


Everybody Here's Real Proud To Present "Choked Out"

by trashcangimmick



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Backyard Wrestling, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Power Dynamics, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is pretty boring in rural Ohio. Nothing but atmospheric bleakness, moonshine, and the trailer park's after-school fight club. Dean's coasting through the monotony, like everybody else. Until Roman's cousin Seth moves into town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Can See The Future (It's A Real Dark Place)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the [Mountain Goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_0cr3AP2W4) song.

Dempster Ohio is a place that people just kind of end up.

Nobody aspires to take a trip there to see the sights. Nobody moves there for a better job or a better life. The whole town’s a cyclical shoreline full of life’s proverbial flotsam and jetsam. The washed-up wreckage of nicer stories.

It doesn’t seem like a coincidence how the name so closely resembles that of a garbage receptacle. Perhaps even the first settlers knew that their tiny village, in the middle of nowhere, was bound for nothing but mediocrity.

The town boasts two major industries. A meat packing factory, and a coal mine. All the grown, bearded men walk around smelling like blood and viscera or covered in soot. The life expectancy is at least ten years lower than the national average. The school is always starved for funding due to chronic low test scores. More roads are made of dirt than pavement. It’s a shorter trek to hit the railroad tracks than it is to reach the highway. The people born in Dempster also die there. Even the ones who try to leave always seem to come back.

Youth is difficult to stomach no matter the place or time, but being stuck between childhood and the burdens of becoming an adult in a town so dreary and stifling breeds a whole mess of contempt.

“God damn it, Ambrose!”

Kevin spits blood onto the dusty ground as he stumbles backwards. He’s a big boy. Body like a cannonball. His round belly doesn’t slow him down much. There’s a lot of muscle under the layers of fat. He’s a few months shy of seventeen. He’s already covered in tattoos and sports a constant scruffy beard. He’s beat the ever loving shit out of most kids in the trailer park.

“Whoops,” Dean grins, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet like a boxer. There are splotchy red stains on his taped-up knuckles. His slanted grin says everything about how he’s not at all sorry for sucker-punching dear Kevin square in the mouth. Because hell, he’s half Kevin’s size. Nothing but wiry muscle, dirty blonde hair, and boundless energy. People say he’s crazy. Would probably fight a cougar with his bare hands given the opportunity. He’s the only one who will actually  _ challenge _ Kevin to a fight and occasionally come out on top.

The crowd around them widens the circle a bit. Skinny little boys and pimpled teens all taking a few cautious steps back. It’s hard to say what Kevin Owens is capable of when angry. There are rumors about him killing his meth-addict step-father and burying him by the tracks. Rumors so credible, the Sheriff even investigated him. He spent a couple nights in jail.

But no one turns to leave. This is the only sort of thrill to be had in a town with fewer cable boxes than rusty pickup trucks. Maybe today’s the day Dean finally bit off more than he can chew. Everybody’s gonna watch. It’s beautiful like a trainwreck is beautiful.

Kevin’s got his balance back. He takes a few heaving breaths, trying to wipe some of the blood and spit away with his forearm. Dean’s still jumping around. Tense. A coiled spring waiting to pop.

It’s quiet like an execution room. Spectators’ breaths baited. Waiting for the lethal injection to pierce skin. For the noose to tighten around someone’s neck.

Kevin lunges. Barrels forward quicker than he’s got any right to. Dean side-steps him. Sticks a leg out. Even manages to trip him a little. Then it’s three consecutive right-hooks, just beneath the ribs. High knee right to the stomach. Before anyone can really register what’s happening, Dean and Kevin are rolling around on the ground. Dirt sticking to their sweat and blood slicked skin. 

Really, Kevin should have the advantage. All he has to do is pin Dean under his considerable weight and wail on him until he stops struggling. But Dean’s slippery. Kevin can’t seem to get a grip on him. Somehow, Kevin ends up pinned on his stomach, Dean sitting on his back with a forearm locked around his neck in a tight choke hold. 

“C’mon,” Dean laughs, voice raspy and shot. “Tap out like a little bitch. I’ll letcha go. Scout’s honor.”

Kevin struggles. His face is starting to flush. It looks like he’s in a considerable amount of pain. Nobody in the crowd dares cheer. Because Kevin would remember. He’d come after each and every one of them. The abandoned lot is perfectly silent but for Kevin’s wheezing and grunting.

And then Kevin’s hand falls against the ground. Tapping pointedly three times. Dean lets go right away and jumps up to his feet with a  _ very tasteful _ victory crow. Kevin rolls onto his back, gasping for air. 

 

***

 

New faces are few and far between in Dempster. So of course, the whole town’s all atitter when the rumors start to circulate that some distant member of the McMahon family is gonna be crawling up out of the woodwork.

To say the McMahons are well-loved would be a darn far stretch of the truth. The family’s owned McMahon’s Meats as long as anybody can remember. They’ve always been the Boss Men, with all the money. Vince, the aging patriarch, is a bumbling caricature of Scrooge McDuck. By most accounts, his daughter ain’t much better. Her husband Hunter manages the plant, and, well, there’s always sledgehammer leaning against his desk that gives you the distinct feeling he ain’t afraid to pick it up and use it.

But, there’s an exception to every rule. Stephanie couldn’t get pregnant, so she also didn’t get a chance to pass along the nastiness that seems to run in the family’s genes. She and Hunter adopted a kid from Samoa. Roman, the heir to the fortune, ain’t actually half bad. A bit of an oddball, maybe. Sticks out like a sore thumb, seein’ as he’s about six feet of bulky muscle and body hair. Looks like he could rip a man in half without breaking a sweat. Lotsa folks figure he’s mean, since he’s the silent type. If you get him talking though, it’s apparent he’s about as threatening as a puppy made of marshmallows. The bastard listens to classical music and wants to be a geologist.

“I already told you. I don’t really know much about him,” Roman groans, slumping back at his desk.

Dean can’t stop bouncing his leg. He gets so twitchy when he has to sit still. It’s always worse in detention. Where he’s just supposed to be quiet or do homework. It’s impossible to focus.

“He’s yer damn cousin,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Have you never even met him?”

“The last time I saw him, we were fourteen. I’m sure he’s changed a lot?”

“And your folks didn’t say anything about why he was getting shipped off to bum-fuck nowhere?”

“Something about him being in ‘trouble’?” Roman shrugs. “They weren’t very specific. The only concrete thing mom said was to keep him away from you.”

_ “Me?” _ Dean places a hand on his chest in mock-offense. There’s a happy, bubbling feeling in his chest. He hates Mrs. McMahon an awful lot. It’s a private source of endless joy that she disapproves of him so thoroughly.

“You and the quote ‘other trailer trash’. But you know. It’s better not to argue with her.”

“We should throw your cousin a welcome party.”

“Dean, no.”

“Roman, yes.”

“Dude we can’t--”

“Just think about it,” Dean holds up a finger. “We could keep it small. Get a thirty rack and a bottle of Jim. You, me, Bryan, maybe Becky and Charlotte…?”

Roman sinks lower in his chair and grunts. Everybody with eyes knows he’s got a crush on Becky. Who wouldn’t? Beautiful red-head, that’s somehow sweet as pie. And Charlotte… well. Charlotte’s a stone-cold bitch. But you can’t really have one without the other. And if she’s drunk enough, Char’s been known to get nasty in more productive ways than emotional battery.

Once she sucked Dean off in a tractor barn. He wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. He kept his mouth shut about it after the fact, in hopes she might be persuaded to do it again.

“C’mon, Roman. It’ll be fun. Just say you guys are going to Bryan’s house or something, and we’ll live it up.”

“Every time you say that, I feel like bad things happen.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

“Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.” Mr. Jericho interjects from his desk. He’s got his feet propped up and he’s flipping through a magazine. Sometimes he yells at them to be quiet and study or something, but lately he seems to have given up.

“Sorry, sir,” Roman immediately offers.

“No you’re not.” Mr. Jericho snorts.

This is probably as much a punishment for him as it is for Dean and Roman. After all, he’s the music teacher. He’s got no business running detention. But he never seems to report it when students wander off during class. He’s got that whole ‘if they don’t wanna be here, then they can fuck off’ attitude. So if Dean and Roman get caught smoking behind the gym when they really should be in band, well, Mr. Jericho seems to get shouldered with some of the blame.

Dean almost feels a little bad for him. Chris is an alright guy. In his late twenties. Has a tendency to wear jeans and t-shirts instead of ties. If anyone else gelled their hair that much, there'd be a lot more whispers about ‘em being a queer. Jericho is pretty well-liked, though. So people let it slide.

“You got any fun plans this weekend, teach?” Dean rests an elbow on his desk and offers up his best shit-eating grin. 

Maybe a little part of him wonders about Chris’ sexuality more than he should. It’s hard not to. Most men in Dempster would knock your teeth out at the mere insinuation. Chris just kinda sidesteps questions with a knowing smile. And well… Dean’s got eyes, you know? Chris ain’t a bad looking guy.

Who doesn’t have inappropriate fantasies about authority figures every now and again? It’s not like Dean’d ever do anything about it. Probably. Maybe. Given the chance, he’d drop to his knees and open his mouth in a goddamned heartbeat. That’s really nobody’s business but his. He doesn’t even share those kinda late-night musings with Roman, and he tells Roman basically everything.

“Oh, you know,” Chris drawls. “Drinking myself stupid and questioning what wrong decisions I made in life to wind up babysitting idiots like you two.”

“If you’re so bored, you could let us go early.”

“I think you’re forgetting why we’re all stuck here in the first place, Ambrose.”

“Can you blame me for trying?”

“I can blame you for not using any of your bountiful, wily charm for something productive. Maybe if you’d turned that diabetes-inducing smile on Mrs. Sable, we’d all be free as birds right now.” Chris looks up, catches Dean’s gaze and holds it for a moment. It sends a lurch of heat through Dean’s body. He’s weak. He’s already starting to chub up. Fuck. 

“Well, damn,” Dean licks his lips. “I’ll have to try harder with the sweet talk next time.”

“Atta boy.” Chris  _ winks. _

Dean’s dead. Gone and buried. Even if the moment's over, and Chris is back to reading his magazine. He wants to grab Roman by the shoulders and scream  _ did you see that? Did that just happen? _

But of course Roman didn’t see it. He’s a sweetheart. Got some of the highest grades in the class. It’s just that he’s not very—whaddaya call it—emotionally perceptive. Sometimes misses the nuance, you know?

“So,” Dean turns back towards Roman. “We’ll plan on Saturday night?”

“He’s not even getting here till Friday.”

“Cool. I’ll get the booze.”

“Dean--I don’t--”

“I’ll invite Becky and Char, you tell Bryan to get out his party clogs?”

Roman stays quiet for almost a full thirty seconds before barely mumbling, “OK.”

“There’s my champ.” Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Maybe you’re finally gonna lose that pesky v-card, huh? Become a real man.”

“Shut up.”

 

***

 

It’s not that hard to talk Becky and Charlotte into a party. Dean’s got the formula down.  _ My mom works nights. There will be beer. There will be music. Roman’ll even pick you up.  _

Becky gets all blushy just at the mention of Roman’s dumb name. It’s a dang maricle they haven’t boned yet, they way they go all moony eyes at each other whenever they’re in the same room. Charlotte is a little harder to appease. She wants to bring Paige. She wants to know who else will be there. She wants to know if there will be food. She wants a ride back home whenever she decides it’s time to go.

Dean promises her the goddamned moon. They both know it’s a lie. She agrees to go anyway.

Getting the party supplies ain’t that hard either. 

Dean has been jacking forties from the corner store since he was twelve. Over the years he’s gotten to be good friends with the owner. They both know Dean ain’t old enough. But when he plops a thirty-rack down on the counter and offers up a crisp, twenty-dollar bill, good old Mick would rather have money than missing inventory.

“Well now,” Mick smiles. It’s a little hard to tell underneath his large, scruffy beard until his eyes crinkle and he lets out a chuckle. “What sorta mischief you getting up to?”

“No mischief, sir. Nothin’ but good wholesome fun.” Dean picks up a box of condoms and drops them on top of the thirty-rack without batting an eye.

That earns another hearty laugh. 

The stage is all set. Dean even cleaned up a little. Took out the garbage and put the dirty dishes in the sink. A trailer is still a trailer, even if it’s clean. It’s more than a little cramped. Two bedrooms, one kitchen, a living room that can barely fit a couch and a television he rescued from Roman’s garbage. But Dean’s never been in the business of putting on airs or pretending he’s some kinda fancy. He’s just more inclined to make an effort if it improves the chances of getting his dick wet.

That’s what tonight’s about after all. He’s got dibs on Char. Roman’s got Becky (provided he actually has the balls to do anything about it). And well… Roman’s cousin and Bryan are just gonna have to fight it out over Paige or share.

There’s a knock on the front door. It’s a little early. Dean’s mom just left for the diner half an hour ago. The beer in the fridge might not be completely cold yet. Dean’s wearing his only jeans that don’t have holes in them. He thought about combing his hair, but that seemed like a step too far. It might ruin his signature don’t give a fuck aesthetic.

He saunters over to the front door and tugs it open. Bryan’s standing there holding a mason jar full of clear liquid.

“You fucker,” Dean laughs. “Is that Wyatt moonshine?”

“Stopped off this afternoon. Got a whole sermon and a half about how the end times are nigh.” Bryan tosses Dean the jar and strolls into the house. 

Bryan is a pretty average fella. Obviously descended from the ‘hill folk’ that slowly migrated down to Dempster as civilization progressed. Short, and stocky, with a very thick blonde beard. There’s dozens of him walking around down in the mines. 

He’s nice enough. Has access to stronger booze than you can buy in any store seeing as he’s not afraid to drive up back into the hills and purchase it at the source. The Wyatts are some distant, twice removed cousins of his. Dean would never go on his own, but he’s ridden along with Bryan a couple times, and it’s quite the trip.

Dean unscrews the lid of the jar and takes a whiff. It’s strong enough to make his eyes water. They’re probably gonna have to mix it with soda to get the girls to partake. But Dean would like to think he’s man enough to have it straight.

He knocks back a big swig before he can second-guess himself. It burns the whole way down like he just drank some pureed ghost peppers. He coughs. Can’t help it. Bryan laughs up a goddamned storm. Because Dean’s a purebred Townie that can’t take his Shine the proper way.

When he recovers from the first sip, Dean mixes himself up a glass with ice and some sprite. Bryan drinks his straight.  

By the time Roman’s pickup pulls into the driveway, they’re both a little sloshed, listening to Danzig and squalling along.

_ “Not about to see your light, but if you want to find hell with me, I can show you what it's like, till you’re bleeding…” _

They’re singing when the door swings open. Becky and Charlotte walk in first. All dolled up. Then comes Roman. Looks like maybe Paige didn’t make it after all? The last person to walk inside must be Roman’s cousin. Dean’s too intoxicated not to do a double take.

Because, well, when you haven’t ever seen somebody but you’ve heard about them, you kinda build a mental image of them. Roman’s big. Hunter’s big. The whole McMahon family, biological or not, runs tall and muscular. They play The Sports. They are High Class and Well Dressed. So, Dean wasn’t expecting a carbon copy of Roman, exactly, but he was definitely not prepared for a scrawny, skinny-jeans, studded belt, ripped up chucks and glasses wearing, goth kid. Like. This guy’s hair is almost as long as Charlotte's. Dark, curly black, with a bright blonde streak at the front. Dean would almost wonder if he’d missed the memo and Roman’s cousin was actually a girl, if not for the beard.

“Guys, this is Seth. Seth, that’s Bryan and Dean.”


	2. He's Gonna Make You Feel The Way You Wanna Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well that escalated quickly.

Things didn't exactly go according to plan. But Dean’s not too upset about it. Becky and Roman wandered off first—back to the car to get some unspecified left-behind items. Charlotte just kind of abruptly dragged Bryan off to the kitchen. And well. Dean wasn’t gonna fight it. He doesn’t even really like Charlotte unless she is actively giving him an orgasm.

Nah, he’s fine right where he is. Sitting up on the roof, maintaining his heavy buzz, and ‘getting to know’ Mr. Seth From The Big City.

Granted, Seth wasn’t all that talkative at first. But now that he’s more than a few beers deep, he’s getting friendlier. 

“So c’mon,” Dean cracks open another can of Miller High Life and takes a swig. “Roman said you was trouble. What’s the worst thing you got caught doing?”

“Fuck,” Seth laughs. He’s got kinda a higher pitched voice. It’s not grating, though. Maybe even a little charming. “You don’t even buy a guy dinner first before asking about his deep dark secrets?”

“I bought the beer.”

“I bought the smokes.” Seth quirks his pierced eyebrow and pulls another menthol out of his pack. He offers one to Dean without being asked. It’d be rude to say no.

Dean places the cig between his lips and fishes out his lighter. He’s never been able to blow smoke rings or anything cool like that. He just takes a long drag and exhales a big cloud.

“Once I spent the night in jail for stealing a whole frozen turkey.”

“What?” Seth snorts. 

“Yep. It was thanksgiving and my mom was working, so I thought maybe I’d try to make her dinner. Didn’t quite work out that way.”

“That’s kinda sad?”

“I’ve had worse holidays.” Dean shrugs. “I mean, I’ve got a pretty personal relationship with most of the sheriff’s deputies at this point. Paul was on duty that night. His wife brought him dinner and he shared.”

“You’ve been arrested a lot, I take it.” Seth rolls his empty can down into the gutter and fishes another out of the box.

“Yep. I’m a real bad seed, y’know. Startin’ fires, and stealing shit, and defacing public property. Racked up a pretty impressive record. Pity they’re gonna wipe it when I turn eighteen. Then I gotta start all over.”

“You’re nuts.”

“People do say that.” Dean winks.

Seth’s eyes are glassy from the booze. He’s real fucking pretty. It’s a problem. A problem that is growing at the same rate Dean’s dick is getting hard.

“Well, Mr. Ambrose,” Seth cocks his head. “You’re living up to the hype so far. Dragging me up onto a trailer roof, trying to get me drunk, and wooing me with grand tales of debauchery.”

“I do my best.”

“You know, I got a big lecture from my aunt Stephanie about how Roman’s an idiot who will never be convinced of what a terrible person you are, but I should stay very far away from you if I know what’s good for me.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Dean spreads his arms wide, mock-swooning. “Take me. I’m yours.”

Dean means it, of course. He’s just used to people brushing him off. He’s always had a general lack of fucks to give about what someone’s got down their pants, as long as they’ll let him rub up against it. He’s gotten punched a heck of a lot for ‘joking’ around about hand jobs, or sucking dicks, or full-on anal sex. Nobody seems to take him seriously. Or if they do, they pretend he’s kidding because it’s one of those things people just don’t like to think about. 

So he’s not quite sure what to do with that look Seth’s giving him. Intrigued. Amused. Maybe even smug? There’s something a little sharp and wicked about it. Like Seth knows something that Dean don’t.

“Careful,” Seth takes another sip of beer. “Nobody likes a tease.”

“Who said I was teasin’?”

“Roman probably told you,” Seth shrugs. “So you thought it’d be funny to make a pass at me. Wouldn’t be the first time. You’re cute. I’m drunk. So I’ll only hold a tiny grudge. Go ahead and backtrack. We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

Dean takes a few seconds to dissect that. He can’t really focus on most of the words. His brain is ringing. Did Seth just say he was cute?

“Hold up a second.” Dean slams back the rest of his beer and tosses it down into the gutter. He wipes his mouth of on his forearm before turning to Seth. “What exactly would Roman have told me?”

“Uh… that I’m one of ‘The Queers’...?”

Dean doesn't like to be presumptuous. But far as he’s concerned, Seth just gave him the holy grail of go-aheads. 

He leans over, closing the small distance between them and tugs Seth into a kiss. It’s clumsy. Messy. They’re both pretty trashed. But Seth reciprocates without any hesitation. Moans into Dean’s mouth. They both taste like cigarettes. The lingering, acrid muddyness of too many cheap beers. Seth’s lips are so soft. A striking contrast to his bearded chin and cheeks. 

Dean has never kissed another guy before. Not for a lack of trying. He kind of can’t believe it’s happening. Granted, it ain’t all that different than kissing a girl. Seth has a small mouth. Quick little tongue. Dean still feels electric. Getting hotter every second. He’s so damn hard. 

Seth shifts. Swings his leg over Dean’s hips. Then he’s sitting in Dean’s lap, clutching at his shoulders. Letting out these soft whines. 

As much as Dean wants to fuck on the roof, his scant self-preservation instincts are kicking in. Someone might call the Sheriff on them. He learned that the hard way, going down on Nikki Bella. She didn’t even return the favor before them flashing lights pulled into the driveway to break the party up.

It coulda been a noise complaint that brought old Paul out to the trailer park, since it was 2 a.m. on a Wednesday, and folks don’t have much patience for week-night rowdiness when most of ‘em gotta rise and work with the sun.

But an arrest for public indecency would be one hell of a way to come outta the closet. Dean’s poor mother has been through enough. Not to mention it might be the sort of thing that’d finally get him kicked out onto the street. And it ain’t like he’d really have anywhere to go. Stephanie McMahon would take him in out of the cold the day cows fly. If he got caught gaying up her nephew, she’d probably have him tarred and feathered in the public square. So he’d rather avoid that whole can of worms if possible.

It takes a lot to pull away from Seth, even just for a moment. They’re both breathing pretty hard. Seth squirms, grinding his ass back against Dean’s dick. 

“We should um… we should probably head inside?”

“What happened to Mr. Adventurous Rebel?” Seth nips at Dean’s lower lip. “Scared of a little exhibitionism?”

“I’m pretty sure Roman’d kill me if he saw this.”

“So you’re saying that you don’t want me to suck your cock right here, right now?”

Seth runs his fingers along Dean’s belt. Toys with the buckle. Dean groans. He didn’t know people like Seth existed. But good lord, he’d always hoped.

“Bet can get you off quick enough that nobody would see.” Seth loosens Dean’s belt buckle.

“That so?” Dean sounds hoarse. It’s not entirely the cigarettes.

“Not to brag. But I’m kind of a slut.”

That shouldn’t be hot. Why is that hot? Seth unbuttons Dean’s jeans and pulls down the zipper. Dean does not believe in underwear, so his cock is just out. Standing at full attention. Throbbing. He’s a little dizzy.

It’s not like he’s some kind of virgin. He’s seen his fair share of action. The girls talk to each other. He gets good reviews when it comes to eating pussy and discretion. That keeps ‘em coming back, or at least taking him for the occasional spin. 

This, though. This is different. Unexplored territory. A brave new frontier. He’s not used to not knowing what to do.

Seth wraps his hand around Dean’s cock and gives it a slow stroke, pulling the foreskin down to expose the shiny, pink head.

“There’s something you don’t see everyday.” Seth wets his lips. 

“Well… I was born in the back seat of a pickup truck.” Dean’s voice is still wrecked. It’s hard to be suave when someone is touching your dick.

Seth doesn’t bother with much preamble. He just slides down the roof a bit, bends over, and takes Dean’s  _ entire cock into his mouth. _ Dean might bite down on his own hand to keep from yelling. Because holy shit. Dean ain’t small. He’s never had someone even try to take him all the way. Seth doesn’t so much as gag. He just starts bobbing his head, and flicking his tongue like it’s what he was born to do.

The tip of Dean’s cock is literally down Seth’s throat. It’s such an intense sensation. It feels so good it’s almost scary? 

Dean don’t wanna look like some loser on a hair trigger. But there might not really be an option here. He can already feel that twisting pleasure, building up much too quick to last. He tangles his fingers in Seth’s hair. Holding on for dear life. 

There’s drool running down Seth’s chin. The sloppy heat of his mouth is fucking exquisite. His glasses are fogging up. Shit. 

Everything is way too much to cope with. Dean’s orgasm is approaching like it’s the ground and he just jumped out of a plane with no parachute. He can’t do nothing to hold off. Not when his thighs are trembling a little, and he’s panting, and it’s taking everything he’s got just to avoid making an ungodly racket.

“Fuck…” he whispers. “Fuck I’m gonna come…”

Seth doesn’t pull back. If anything, he catches a second wind. Another couple seconds, and Dean’s over the goddamned moon. Cock twitching. His entire body pulsing with syrupy, warm pleasure. 

All of Dean's nerve endings are buzzing. Seth swallows and sits up. His lips are all puffy. Shiny. Dean has to kiss him again. Even if it tastes like dick. His dick. And jizz. How is it possible to still be horny when he literally just orgasmed? He pulls Seth in closer. Back into his lap. Seth almost seems hesitant, though. Which is weird, considering. 

“You OK?” Dean somehow manages to form the words even though his brain is mush.

“Yeah…” Seth blinks. “Yeah. People just don’t usually kiss me after… doesn’t it taste gross?”

“You tell me,” Dean grins. “You’re the one that just swallowed it.”

Silence holds for a beat too long. Was that the wrong thing to say? Dean does have a knack for shoving a foot in his mouth at the worst possible time. But then Seth leans forward and kisses him again with a lot more enthusiasm. 

“You could stand to eat more pineapple,” he mumbles between brushes of lips.

“I’ll get right on that.”

Dean runs a hand up Seth’s thigh. Seth presses closer, breath hot against Dean’s cheek. It would be easy to overthink this. So Dean just forges ahead without any game plan. Pops Seth’s tight jeans open. Reaches into his boxers. 

It’s more like an intellectual realization than anything else. Seth’s cock is maybe two thirds the size of Dean’s. Four inches if he’s being generous. Dean’s not bothered by it or anything. Seth don’t seem embarrassed. He’s just whimpering softly. 

Dean wraps his hand around Seth’s dick and gives it a few firm strokes. Seth is leaking a little. Fuck, that’s sexy. 

He kinda wants to suck Seth’s cock. But also Seth is holding onto him pretty tight, and doesn’t seem like he wants to move. So Dean just keeps jerking him off. It’s probably not the greatest handjob in history. But Seth seems to be enjoying himself. 

It’s hard to gauge the passage of time. Everything still seems dialed up to eleven. The lingering smell of cigarettes and beer. The cool late September air crowding in around them. Most of the surrounding trailers in the park have darkened windows. Stars and moonlight shining down from the clear sky. They could be the only two people in the world right now. No sounds but wind blowing through the leaves and Seth’s heavy breathing.

Dean tightens his grip. Speeds up a little. Seth gasps  _ oh, ah… oh... _

Then Dean’s hand is sticky. Seth shudders. Digs his nails into Dean’s shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. 

It’s not awkward. Sometimes things get weird after the fact. But Seth just kinda slumps forward. Rests his cheek against Dean’s chest. Dean wipes his hand off on his jeans before wrapping his arms around Seth’s waist. He’s definitely gonna have to make a trip to the laundromat tomorrow. More than worth it.

“That… is not how I thought I was gonna spend my night,” Seth sounds drunk now. Words rolling lazy off his tongue. Though whether it’s the sex or the booze or a combination that’s to blame is anyone’s guess.

“Yeah. I’ll say.”

“Roman  _ would _ be best friends with the only gay in hickville and have no idea. Christ.”

“Hey, now. I like pussy too. Don’t go makin’ generalizations.”

“Mmm. Sorry.” Seth doesn’t sound sorry at all. But Dean weren’t too offended or anything. He’s pretty sure nothing could upset him right now.

Seth stays in his lap for a while. There are only a couple beers left in the pack, so they finish them up. Have another cig. Then it’s getting to be time to zip up their pants and see where everyone else has wandered off to.

Dean jumps down first. Since he’s climbed on and off the roof more times than he can count. It’s one of his favorite places to be. To get up, usually he has to put his feet on the edge of the windowsill as a stepping point. But getting down, he just slides on off and lands with bent knees.

Seth looks dubious. It is a bit of a drop. Maybe nine feet. Dean did have to help him up onto the roof in the first place. He figured it’d be the same getting down. He holds out his arms and grins.

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch ya.”

Seth rolls his eyes. But he edges forward. Dangles his legs off the roof. Takes a few deep breaths. Then jumps down.

Dean does manage to grab him around the waist before he hits the ground. Seth ain’t all that heavy. Dean spends his summers working part time at the mechanic’s in town, or even in the mines, so he’s got some muscle on him. He doesn’t let go right away. Instead opting to nip at Seth’s neck and kiss him a few more times. They’re both kinda slap-happy. Even when they let go of each other, they’re flushed and giggly. 

They barely manage to compose themselves before walking back into the living room. Bryan is sitting on the couch with the mostly empty jar of moonshine.

“Where y’all been?” He asks in a sleepy drawl. “I was about to send out a search party.”

“We was just up on the roof.” Dean flops down next to him. Seth opts to sit in the dumpy armchair. Probably a good call. Even if Dean would much rather that Seth still be on top of him.

“Roman left.” Bryan yawns. “Char and Becky needed to get home. Said he’d come back. But if he don’t, I got dibs on the couch. I’m pullin’ seniority.”

Seth doesn’t offer any comment. Apparently, he’s back to not really talking. Like before they went up on the roof. Eh.

“Do what you gotta do,” Dean pats Bryan on the knee. “We can get old Sethie a sleepin’ bag or somethin’. Or. Y’know. He could always squeeze into my bed.”

“Like anybody’d wanna sleep next to your greasy ass, Ambrose,” Bryan laughs.

“I ain’t greasy.”

“You snore like a goddamned tractor.”

“You sleep fart.”

“I do not!”

“Do too.”

It deteriorates into the usual bicker-banter. Seth does look mildly amused by the time Dean and Bryan are rolling around on the floor, too drunk to wrestle but trying their darndest anyway. Roman reappears just as Dean’s finally got Bryan on his back in a schoolboy pin. 

They all finish off the moonshine together. Bryan ends up passing out on the floor with a thin blanket. Roman takes the couch. Seth is starting to nod off in his chair when Dean pokes him awake. Takes his hand and leads him down the hall to his room. 

Maybe it’s risky. But he knows Bryan and Roman sleep like the dead. He always wakes up first, so there’s a real good chance they won’t realize where Seth bunked. 

Dean closes the door behind them and turns the lock. He sets his alarm for ten in the morning, even though it’s already three. Then he strips off all his clothes and flops down onto his twin-sized bed. Seth lingers by the door for a minute before he starts undressing. At first, when he lies down next to Dean underneath the sheets, he’s a little stiff. But then Dean drapes an arm around his waist, and kisses him on the shoulder, and that seems to put him at ease.

It’s nice sleeping next to somebody. Dean don’t get to do it that often. There’s something so comforting about it. Sometimes, when he stays over Roman’s house, he’ll crawl into bed with him just to cuddle. Neither of them ever talk about it, because talking would make it weird. But Roman never objects. He’ll spoon up against Dean without being asked. And gosh, it’s heaven.

“G’night,” Dean mumbles against Seth’s skin.

“Goodnight,” Seth whispers in return.

 

***

 

School’s a circus on monday. Everybody wants to know all about Seth, but since he’s an outsider, nobody wants to talk to him.

Roman shows him to his classes and stuff, but otherwise doesn’t seem too concerned about the situation. 

Dean overhears Charlotte talking in a shrill, excited voice about how Seth is  _ weird.  _ Leverages the five minutes of conversation she mighta had with him at Dean’s house into a very tall story about how Seth is a juvenile delinquent that’s in a witness protection program or some other bullshit.

Seth’s quiet and avoidant. So Dean doesn’t really get a chance to tangle himself up in the mess until lunchtime. 

Seth is sitting alone at a table by the window. Dean plops down right across from him and proceeds to ignore the startled expression. 

“So. How’s life in the dumpster treatin’ ya?” He takes a bite out of his apple.

“Well… I think you’re the first person who’s so much as made eye contact with me.” Seth seems a lot less confident than the person who convinces Dean to have public sex on a rooftop. Maybe it was mostly the alcohol.

“Really? Yer the talk of the town. A runaway carny, with a heroin addiction, wanted by the Russian mafia for stealing counterfeit guns. I even heard you have hooves. That’s really the sort of thing you should tell a guy before you try to suck his brains out through his dick.”

Seth stares at him for a second before snorting and cracking a smile.

“I also have a tail.” Seth picks up his fork and starts poking at his pasta. 

“Well, damn. Horns too?”

“You bet.”

Roman sits down next to Dean with a grunt of greeting. He’s never much for talking until his plate is clean. Bryan comes along in another minute and settles next to Seth.  

“I heard you’re a record producer?” He says with a completely straight face.

“Oh yeah. I’ve got several platinum albums out. I’m a personal friend of Beyoncé.”

Bryan laughs. Dean joins him. The awkwardness has all evaporated. 

Roman, Dean and Bryan ain’t the coolest kids in school by any means. But their clear acceptance of Seth into the fold seems like it could diffuse some of the general wariness. To be fair, everyone thinks Dean has several screws loose, Bryan is related to a hillfolk doomsday cult, and Roman is Seth’s kin—so it’s not like any of them have trustworthy, unbiased opinions in the eyes of the public. But something is better than nothing.

By the end of the day, most of the wilder speculation has died down. If Seth’s lucky, gossip will have moved on entirely in a month or so.

Then again, it might not move on at all. There ain’t much news in Dempster. You gotta let the rumor mill churn on something. 


	3. I'd Like To Pack This In And Take You To The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't edited. Oops.

“So what’s there to do for fun in this godforsaken shithole?” Seth brushes his hair back behind his ear and sparks up a cigarette. It’s 3:25 in the afternoon. They’re sitting on the curb outside the school. Roman decided he was gonna let himself get dragged along to watch some chick flick at Becky’s house before her parents get home from work. According to him, they have not done the naked tango yet. But there was a lot of making out and heavy petting, so that’s at least progress.

“Not much, honestly…” Dean cracks his knuckles. “We could go vandalize something. Get drunk. Watch the news, or the weather, seeing as those are the only two channels that’s free. Or… would you wanna go to the fight?”

“What now?” Seth raises his eyebrows.

“Most afternoons, a lotta the boys go to this vacant lot by the trailer park. And we, y’know, beat the living shit outta each other.”

“That’s considered ‘fun’?”

“It’s an adrenaline rush,” Dean shrugs. “Like I said, there ain’t anything else to do.”

Seth takes a long drag, like he’s having an internal debate. Today he’s in a ‘Misfits’ t-shirt and yet another pair of skinny jeans. It’s unclear whether he even owns clothes that aren’t tight. Dean’s not complaining. Seth has a great ass, hell, a great body in general. Why not show it off?

They haven’t hooked up since the party two weeks ago. Then again, Dean don’t have a cell phone. Or a landline. It ain’t like he can go over to the neighbor’s just to call up the McMahon house and ask for Seth. Roman’s been pretty firm about driving him and Seth home right after school, anyway. Last weekend, the whole family went on some sort of day-trip on Saturday. Roman always has to go to church and then have lunch and dinner at home on Sundays. So Seth is now a part of that grand, time-wasting tradition.

It’s finally Friday, though. They’re alone, so to speak. Dean wasn’t expecting Seth to walk outside and just sit down next to him, but he’s pretty dang happy about it.

“OK,” Seth sighs.

“OK?”

“Let’s go to hillbilly fight club, I guess…”

Dean hops up to his feet. He holds a hand out and pulls Seth up as well. Even that tiny bit of physical contact sends a zing through his body. Dean’s kinda excitable. Seth is exciting. 

The school bus has already come and gone, which means they’re gonna have to walk. It’s maybe a half hour trek. At first they’re quiet. Just striding down the side of the road, matching each other’s pace. 

“So… you think Roman and Becky are ever gonna make it?” Dean waggles his eyebrows. 

“Who knows. Roman’s kinda a prude.”

“Aw, I dunno about that. I think he’s just shy.”

“Maybe,” Seth shrugs. 

He offers Dean the cigarette. Dean takes a long drag and passes it back.

“I’m gonna ask a question, and you gotta be honest. Have you and Roman ever hooked up?”

“Fuck no,” Dean laughs. “I mean, maybe I’ve gotten a little handsy a couple times but not like he’d ever let me do anything anyway.”

“OK.” Seth smiles. “Sorry. I just had to check. It only occurred to me like, after the fact. That you guys might have done stuff. And that would be awkward. I mean. Roman’s hot. If we weren’t related, I’d probably try to hit that.”

Dean can do much besides grin at that. It’s not logic he can exactly argue with. He knows for a fact that he’d try it on if he thought there was any chance Roman wouldn’t reject him outright. 

“I didn’t tell him. By the way.” Seth flicks the tip of his cigarette to ash it. “Don’t know if that’s something you were worried about.”

“Not especially. But people in this town ain’t the most open-minded and accepting. So, y’know.”

“I figured. That’s half the reason I got shipped out here.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Trying to scare the gay out of me by sending me off to Redneck Central.”

“Well, shit. That kinda backfired.”

“Just slightly. It took me, what… 28 hours of being here to get laid?”

“You’re an inspiration to us all.” 

They’re walking pretty close together. Every now and then, their hands brush against each other. Dean feels all warm and tingly. He shouldn’t read into things too much. After all, it coulda been a one-off because Seth was drunk. But maybe there’s room for hope. They’re talking about sex, after all. Talking about it is generally a good precursor to doing it.

“Are there any other queer people around?” Seth drops the smoldering butt of his cigarette to the ground and grinds it out with his heel.

“Not that I know about. I mean, everyone’s pretty sure that Mr. Jericho’s batting for the same team. But there’s no proof or anything.”

“The music teacher?”

“Yeah.”

“I could see it. He’s kinda cute.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Does that mean I was your first foray into the wonderful world of touching other people’s dicks?” Seth looks a little too pleased with himself. Like he already knows the answer. 

“Not bad for an amature, huh?” Dean says after too long of a pause. He probably doesn’t sound as confident as he’d like.

Fuck. What if he was terrible? What if that’s why it hasn’t happened again.

“I had fun.” Seth lights up another cig. So casual. Dean maybe stares at his mouth more than is appropriate.

 

***

 

There’s already a crowd when Dean and Seth get to the lot. Looks like today Russ and Rudy are at it again. There’ve been some rumors going around about Lana and Rudy doing the nasty. So it was only a matter of time. But even Dean don’t envy the poor bastard Russ decides he’s got a bone to pick with. After all. The guy’s big as a barn. Second-generation Bulgarian. Covered in hair. He’s got a mean face, and a harsh accent. Rudy’s a kinda little guy. It definitely ain’t a fair fight.

So far, Rudy’s nose is bleeding. It also looks like he’s got a busted lip. Lana is screaming from the sidelines. All dolled up in her mini-skirt and low cut top. She’s foxy. One of them waifish, eastern-european girls that somehow ended up in the midwest because long-haul trucking was the only profession her grandad could break into.

Lana’s the queen, though. The prettiest of the pretty. Anybody would be happy to take a crack at her. If she weren’t the Beauty to a hulking Beast.

“Rusev!” She shrieks. “Rusev, stop. You’ll kill him!”

Russ just kind of growls and throws Rudy back to the ground. Seth’s eyes widen. He looks more than a little spooked. Rudy’s wheezing. Seems like maybe he’s gonna have trouble getting back to his feet. It ain’t like fight club really got a referee. If somebody taps out you’re s’posed to stop. But well. Russ ain’t the sort to always follow the rules. He’s sent a couple kids to the local clinic with broken bones. 

Dean steps closer and nudges one of the spectators.

“Rudy tried to give up yet?”

“Yeah. He’s tried to tap a couple times.”

“I see.” Dean snaps his gum. He pushes forward. The circle widens to let him in. He or Roman usually gotta be the one to step in when shit gets out of hand. Kevin Owens likes violence too much to ever stop it. And everyone else is too chicken shit to interrupt.

“Help,” Rudy manages to choke out before Russ picks him up, and throws him down again.

“OK, there. This looks like it’s been a whole heap a fun. But let’s break it up now.” Dean claps his hands a few times. 

Russ doesn’t even so much as turn to look at him. Dean cracks his neck. He had to at least make a token non-violent protest before really getting in on the action. 

The first few punches he throws are just warm ups. Which is good. He’s got a couple seconds before Russ realizes what’s happening and diverts his attention. Those are precious seconds. It’s enough for three quick uppercuts in the stomach before darting back out of harm’s way. 

Dean never met his father. But his uncle Otis was a boxer. He got learned a thing or two, before the old bastard drank himself to death. It ain’t always about who’s strongest. Fast, squirrely little fuckers can do a lot of damage so long as they know how to dodge. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Rudy crawling away. Which is good. That was the point. But he don’t get the chance to gloat before Russ clocks him in the side of the head and sends him staggering. Bright lights flashing in his brain. 

Pain’s a weird thing. Dean’s human. He feels it. Just maybe he feels it wrong? It doesn’t seem to have the same effect on him as it does most people. It don’t flip his off switch, so to speak. 

As soon as he’s regained his balance, he’s back on one foot, delivering a roundhouse to the side of Rusev’s torso. Make contact. Recoil. Right jab. Left jab. Duck. Right-hook. Uppercut. Jump back. 

He’s not quick enough. Russ has a wide hand around his throat and is just  _ crushing _ his windpipe. Dean’s not above fighting dirty. He kicks. Scratches. The bite is what gets Russ to let go. He lets out an irate stream of slavic curses. Dean don’t understand the exact translation. But he knows when he’s being called a worthless son of a bitch.

Right jab. Left jab. Right-hook. Left-hook. Dean’s ears are ringing. He’s light-headed. Russ manages to get a grip on him and slams him to the ground, completely knocking the wind out of him. He lies there. Dazed. Russ is standing over him like the menacing terror he is.

Dean starts  _ laughing. _ He laughs so hard he has to clutch his bruised-up sides. This is why people think he’s crazy. He can’t help it. He’s just so damn tickled by the situation. How pissed off Russ is. It’s great. There’s a boot on his chest, compressing his lungs. There’s no more air. He’s still giggling. 

“Rusev!” Lana never really stopped yelling. It’s been a constant backtrack. It’s no wonder he don’t listen to her, if the nattering never stops. “Leave him be or I leave you!”

_ That _ gets his attention. Russ is drenched in sweat. He’s got the beginnings of a real good shiner—Dean’s handywork. He removes his foot from Dean’s chest and takes a few steps back. He starts shouting back at Lana. Still a bunch of words Dean don’t understand. Lana turns on her heel and starts to strut away. Russ follows. Still arguing about god knows what.

Then it’s all over. Dean should get up. He just feels all floaty and disjointed. He’s pretty happy to lie there in the dirt.

“Christ.”

Seth is kneeling next to him. Trying to help him sit. Dean goes along with it. He likes when Seth touches him. He doesn’t mind standing since Seth has an arm around his waist. He just lets himself be led along out of the circle, back towards the trailer park.

“That was impressively stupid.” Seth doesn’t let go, so Dean leans on him even more. In all fairness, Dean would have no problem walking on his own. He’s just a little bruised and bloodied up. He’s been in much worse states. But he’s not gonna pass up an opportunity like this.

“What can I say?” Dean’s voice is a little raspy, from being choked and all. “Guess I got a martyr complex.”

“Or you’ve got a dick and it makes you act like an idiot when you’re trying to get laid?”

“Shit. You caught me. Tryina look all heroic and manly. Was it at all endearing?”

“If I say yes I feel like that would just encourage you towards further dangerous displays of machismo.”

“Shit, I’m gonna be doin’ that anyway, it’s just my personality.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with you,” Seth sighs.

“‘Going to’ as in future tense?” Dean licks his lips.

“Well your mom’s at work by now right?”

“Sure is.”

“I didn’t walk all this way  _ not _ to fuck.”

Dean grins so wide his mouth hurts. He wishes he could lean over and kiss Seth then and there. On the bright side, they’re almost home. It’s just another five minutes or so before they stumble through the door. 

Their lips crash together. Seth moans into Dean’s mouth. But then abruptly pushes him away.

“You are  _ filthy,” _ Seth wrinkles his nose. “Shower. C’mon. Let’s go.”

Dean’s not gonna argue with that. Showers require nudity. He’s very interested in being wet and naked with Seth. So he leads them off in the direction of the bathroom. 

It’s not a big bathroom. In fact, it’s kinda cramped for just one person. Dean shuts the door behind them, steps into the little shower cubicle and turns on the water. He doesn’t waste time stripping off his clothes. Neither does Seth. And god. Dean never got a good look at him the last time. Now he can’t stop staring.

Seth is kinda scrawny. But he’s got a perfect, round ass. Perky little nipples. Even something as simple as the trail of fuzz leading down from his bellybutton to the base of his dick is mesmerising. 

“Take a picture, it’d last longer,” Seth actually rolls his eyes. 

Dean retaliates by pulling him underneath the shower spray before it’s all the way warm. Seth squeals. Tries to escape. But Dean tugs the curtain shut and keeps a firm grip around Seth’s waist. The more Seth squirms, the more their naked skin rubs together. It’s fucking heavenly. 

Soon, Seth’s not even really trying to get away. They’re kissing again. Their dicks are touching. There’s something intensely erotic about being pressed together in a small space like this, with the lukewarm water splashing over them. 

Seth runs his hands all over Dean’s body. Washing away the dirt and grime. Then just touching. Dean indulges himself, grabbing two big handfuls of Seth’s ass and squeezing. Fuck. They’re both so hard. Dean needs something. Anything. Right now. But also he doesn’t want to break the moment. 

It almost doesn’t feel real. They’re wrapped up in some surreal cocoon. The only sound is the water hitting the plastic floor. Their wet kisses. Seth drags his nails down Dean’s chest. Not hard enough to hurt. It kinda tickles. 

Seth wraps his hand around both of their cocks. They don’t line up quite right. The height difference didn’t matter so much when they were sitting down, but pressed together like this, it’s noticeable. The fact that Dean’s more than a few inches taller. His cock is even a couple inches longer. That doesn’t keep it from feeling good when Seth starts to jack them off.

It’s slippery. Messy. Seth seems to get real sticky when he’s turned on. Dean backs Seth up against the wall. Spreads his legs a little wider. Then the tip of Seth’s cock is rubbing right underneath the head of Dean’s and it’s fucking ecstasy.

_ “Shit.” _ Seth’s head falls back. His eyes are closed. Lips parted. He’s like a painting. A glossy photograph from a magazine. Dean has no business being able to touch something so pristine. He’s bound to ruin it. He can’t stop himself.

He mouths at Seth’s neck. Finds the tender spots and nips at them to make Seth whine. It’s the most interesting music he’s ever heard. He can’t get enough. He’s probably leaving marks. That’s probably bad. Oops.

“Are you—are you close?” Seth is panting. Body starting to tense. Dean feels good, sure. But he also jerked off first thing this morning. Ironically, thinking about this. About Seth. Getting to touch him again. So he could hold off a while.

“Mmm… maybe. Seems like you are.” Dean smiles. “Gonna come for me, baby?”

“Oh, the terrible dirty talk starts now, does it?” It’s possible Seth was aiming for indignant. But it hit a lot closer to desperate.

Dean presses even closer so he can whisper right in Seth’s ear. “What, you don’t like being called baby? How about sweetheart? Kitten?”

“I… I… um… fuck, just come already.”

“You first, darlin’.”

Seth whimpers. He pulls Dean into another kiss. Maybe to stop him from talking. Though he really seemed to like the talking. If the way his cock is twitching is anything to go by. Dean grabs his ass again. Spreads his cheeks a little. It’s a passing thought, really. Not calculated or weighed. Dean his kinda slips a finger down and rubs it across Seth’s hole. 

It triggers a chain reaction. Seth gasps. His cock pulses. He covers them both in hot, sticky jizz. He zones out for a minute after that. 

Dean keeps kissing him. Takes himself in hand. Jacks off fast and rough, the way he usually does when he’s alone. It don’t take too long for him to get there. Hit that crest of pleasure and paint stripes of come all over Seth’s stomach. 

They stay underneath the shower spray a while longer. Wash off. Kiss some more. Eventually they step out. There’s only one clean towel, which Dean gives to Seth. He’s fine with dripping dry. He doesn’t bother with getting dressed. He just grabs a fresh pair of boxers from his room, then walks straight down the hall, into the kitchen. He’s starving. 

The fridge is pretty sad. Nothin’ but eggs, half a jug of milk, some limp green beans and a some cans of beer. Eggs it is. He pulls out a pan, and sets it on the hot plate. He hears the floor creak when Seth wanders in. The chair-legs scrape on the linoleum floor as Seth sits down.

Dean dumps some butter in the pan, and turns the hot plate all the way up. He starts cracking eggs into a bowl, puts in a splash of milk and mixes it all up with a fork. A little salt and pepper. Dash of garlic powder. Dash of cayenne. He pours it into the pan and scrambles it up with the plastic spatula. It doesn’t take long to cook through.

He dumps the eggs onto plates and sets them on the table. He washes the egg-mixing fork and another one from the sink. Puts those on the table as well.

“You want a beer? Or there’s uh… water or milk.” 

“Beer.” 

Dean grabs their drinks and sits down. He’s never been a very dignified eater. He tends to shove food in his mouth as fast as possible until it’s all gone. He at least tries not to make a mess. His plate’s empty in about three minutes and Seth has barely touched his.

“Do you like, need some more?” Seth nudges his eggs in Dean’s direction.

“You not hungry?”

“Not really… it doesn’t taste bad or anything. I just don’t usually eat until a lot later.”

Dean takes about half of what’s on Seth’s plate and demolishes that as well. After he’s chugged his beer and grabbed another, he’s starting to feel full. Happy. Kinda sleepy. Seth seems kinda antsy. He keeps checking his phone. 

He doesn’t say anything until after the table’s cleared and Dean’s on beer number three. 

“So. I guess I should call Roman for a ride?” 

“I mean, if you want to. You’re also welcome to stay.”

“Yeah?” Seth’s shoulders relax a little. Dean hadn’t noticed how rigid Seth had been holding himself before. 

“I was kinda thinkin’ you could teach me how to blow somebody. Seems like a good life skill.”

“That could definitely be arranged.” Seth wets his lips. 

Dean wants to just pick him up and drag him back to bed, but he manages to restrain himself. Or, you know, he just grabs Seth’s hand and leads him back to his room with a lot of enthusiasm. 


	4. There's No One Here To Tell You Bout The Depth Of The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This update is only two days late. Shh. It's fine.)

Usually it’s Roman and Dean that get detention together. Because Dean has a hair-brained idea, and Roman is suggestible, or goes along to make sure Dean don’t hurt himself, or he’s just not that great at saying no. Occasionally, it’s Dean and Bryan. Because the scheme was too much for Roman to cope with. 

This is the first time it’s been Dean and Seth. 

It’s was probably just a matter of time. But Dean was hanging around Seth’s locker, waiting for him to get changed after gym, and definitely not leveraging an opportunity to see him naked. They were some of the last few stragglers. Roman and Bryan were already gone. So of course, Kevin Owens chose that specific moment to sidle up and start calling Seth a faggot.

Poking fun at his faggot jeans, and his faggot hair, and his stupid faggot band shirts. Seth didn’t really say anything. Just ignored it. 

Dean’s never one to turn down an excuse to punch Kevin in the face.

By the time Mr. Borden got there, Kevin was bleeding a heck of a lot. It was his word against theirs. You generally listen to the guy who looks more beat up when he says he didn’t start the fight. So Kevin got to go home early, and here they are.

Mr. Jericho must have said or done something to piss Mrs. Sable off again. Because it’s him behind the desk at the front. 

“Now… I can’t say I’m surprised to see you here, Ambrose,” Mr. Jericho drawls. “But corrupting the new McMahon spawn. I feel like I should scold you.”

“He’s not corrupting anybody,” Seth says before Dean can even open his mouth. “I arrived already a delinquent.” 

“Oh really?” Chris flashes a grin. “Well, hanging around with this joker isn’t gonna fix that. You should find some better friends.”

Dean would be offended if Chris weren’t right. He really is not, and will never be, good for anybody that wants to be their best self. 

“Oh, I dunno,” Seth shrugs. “I kinda like this one.”

“Your funeral, kid.”

Chris pulls open the desk drawer and takes out his iPad. He might be the only person in the entire town that has one. He puts headphones in, but doesn’t even try to be subtle about the fact that he’s watching a movie. 

That leaves Dean and Seth relatively alone. With a whole hour to kill. There are worse things in the world. 

They’re sitting at the very back of the classroom, desks close together. If they keep their voices low, Chris probably won’t hear them. Not like he’d pay attention anyway. But still. It almost feels intimate. 

“I get the feeling that I’m going to be telling you that you’re an idiot a lot,” Seth sighs. 

“It’s a fair criticism.”

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Seth waves his hand abstractly. 

“Kevin didn’t have to act like a dick. He knows I ain’t afraid of him. He was lookin’ for a fight.”

“It’s probably pointless to tell you that you didn’t have to take the bait.”

“Probably.”

“Ugh.” Seth slumps back in his chair. “Hunter is gonna be so pissed.”

“Oh. Shit.” Dean hadn’t even thought about that. He doesn’t know Hunter that well. But from what he understands, the guy’s a real hard ass.

“I mean. He yells at me all the time anyway, and he knows I lie whenever possible, and I very obviously dislike him. So it’s kinda a moot point. But still. He doesn’t need  _ more _ reasons to not let me leave the house.”

“Sorry,” Dean offers. He feels a little deflated. He always does this. Jumps first, doesn’t ask questions, and then it bites him.

“I mean, you should really be apologizing to yourself. I had grand plans to sneak out on Friday and have tons of orgasms with you, and now he’s gonna be watching me like a hawk, and I probably won’t be able to escape.”

Dean’s brain stutters. He kind of stopped listening after the word ‘orgasm’, if he’s being honest. Fuck. He’s chubbing up a little bit in his jeans. He maybe palms himself not so discretely and Seth snorts.

“I guess it was kinda sweet, though.” Seth nudges Dean’s ankle with the toe of his shoe. “You defending my non-existent honor.”

“My mama tried her best to raise a gentleman. Even if almost none of it stuck, I got my moments.”

“You kinda do.” 

The words make Dean feel all warm and bubbly. He’s probably grinning like an idiot. It’s too bad he don’t got enough self-respect to care.

 

***

 

Bryan’s parents seem to operate under the paradigm that whatever goes on in the basement is something they don’t want to know about, and ain’t ever gonna ask about. So even though it’s a Saturday, and they’re home right now, Dean and Bryan have been smoking bowls since they woke up around noon. Sitting on the ledge of the one window that barely lets any light in, blowing smoke up out the well.

It’s another perk of being Bryan’s friend. Besides the moonshine, he always seems to have pot. The Wyatt’s grow it, after all. Bryan gets ‘family’ prices. Dean couldn’t honestly say how many weekends he’s spent doing exactly this. 

“I’m so fuckin’ high,” Bryan grins. He looks ridiculous. With his bloodshot eyes and scraggly beard. He’s not wearing a shirt. He’s been in his pajama pants since last night. 

Not like Dean is in any better shape. But he always a fashion trainwreck anyway.

“Yeah,” Dean ruffles his fingers through his hair. “That's some good shit.”

“I gotta make another run before this crop runs out. I also been thinkin about Halloween. We gonna uphold the tradition?”

Said tradition is the resoundingly bad idea of buying fresh psychedelic mushrooms from the Wyatt farm, dressing up in some crazy costume, chowing down, and running around town tripping balls on All Hallows' Eve. They've done it three years in a row now. Avoided getting arrested until the last time. Being hauled off to a cell while rocked off your gourd ain't the greatest thing. Roman swore he'd never do it again. 

Dean on the other hand, might be game for it. He does love shrooming. 

“Shit,” he laughs. “What sorta tradition would it be if we don't keep it alive?”

“And people say bein’ friends with a nut job don't have no benefits.”

Dean reaches for the bong and takes a nice long rip. His head feels so fuzzy. Everything is warm and soft. 

The problem with weed is it makes him horny. Well. Hornier than general existence. Bryan doesn't punch him when he gets touchy-feely, like some people do. But he expresses intense verbal displeasure for “that gay shit” if Dean pushes it too far. 

If only Seth were here. God. It's pathetic how many times a day Dean thinks about him. His stomach’ll flip and he’ll get a few shades too warm for comfort and he's a goddamned mess. 

He jumps a little when Bryan’s phone starts ringing. Bryan takes at minute fumbling with the buttons before he answers it. 

“Helllllo? … Nothin’ much. Just gettin’ fucked up. You should come over… Yeah he’s here already… Yes, Roman, he's been here since last night… I ever tell you that you sound like a worried hen half the time? We’re fine. We just passed out early is all… Ugh.”

Bryan holds the phone out. “Your wife wants to talk to you.”

Dean sticks his tongue out. But he accepts the phone. 

“Howdy doody.”

“Dean, I thought you said you were going home last night. I stopped by looking for you.”

“Bryan beat ya there.”

“And then didn't answer his phone all night. I was worried about you guys.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby,” Dean lets his voice dip a little lower. “Didn't mean to scare ya. You know us boys just gotta be boys sometimes. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go out dancing. I'll get those flowers you like.”

Bryan fake gags before bursting into a fit of giggles. Dean tries his best to keep a straight face. 

“I drove to Bryan’s house and rang the doorbell. How the hell did you guys sleep through that?”

“Two words, darlin’. Marijuana and moonshine.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it. Now quit fretting and c’mon over. Couple a hits’ll calm you right down.”

“I don't know.”

“Don't be pissy, sweetheart.”

“Stop with the pet names, it's weird.”

“But pumpkin--”

“Dean.”

“Honey bear?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“See ya soon sugar pop.”

And it is soon, relatively speaking. Roman shows up about an hour later. Freshly showered and still grumpy. Dean plies him by continuously passing him the bong, and petting his hair once he’s stoned. Roman loves head scratches. He’s like a puppy.

Dean’s slumped on the couch, with Roman sitting on the floor between his spread legs. Dean just keeps running his fingers through Roman’s short, thick curls. Bryan’s claimed the bean-bag chair for himself. He may or may not be dozing. It’s hard to tell.

“I’m also still mad at you for getting Seth detention, by the way.” Roman doesn’t sound mad. He sounds all mellow and dreamy.

“What can I say? Trouble is kinda a hazard of being around me, sometimes.”

“I know. Just… he’s been through a lot. Can you maybe… I dunno… try not to drag him into stuff?”

Dean mulls that over. He wants to ask what Roman means by  _ a lot.  _ Is it just the whole, ‘getting uprooted and sent away because of your sexuality’ thing, or is there even more to it? Seems rude to pry. Seth is the sort of person who’s gonna tell you what he wants you to know and not a sentence more. 

“Yeah, Roman. I mean, no promises if I’m being completely honest. But I’ll make an effort and all.”

“Thanks. I know Seth seems like he's made of grit and nails but… well it's like how people think you’re a thug or something but you're really a good person deep down.”

“Think that might be yer rose colored glasses, buddy,” Dean laughs. 

“We both know you've cried watching Bambi.”

“I was seven!” Dean tugs on Roman’s hair just a little bit. 

“You also make your mama a birthday card every year, and last Christmas you knitted her a scarf.”

“Damn. Where is all this hostility coming from? I thought we was spit brothers,” Dean sighs. Maybe a little overdramatic. 

“Bryan's asleep. And he also knows you're a big softie anyway.”

“Lies and slander, all of it. I demand a lawyer.”

“Hmm. Don't have one of those. But I’ve got this.” Roman offers up the bong. 

“Good enough.”

 

***

 

Dean’s strolling down the hall to the cafeteria, minding his own business, when Seth comes out of nowhere, grabs his bicep and steers him off towards the library. Dean isn’t gonna complain about this development. He hasn’t really seen Seth since last week. 

Nobody’s behind the front desk when they slip through the doors. There’s a couple of the geeky kids huddled around a table playing Dungeons and Dragons or something, but most people do not voluntarily spend their lunch in the stacks. 

They’re relatively alone once they get to a back corner of the room, hidden between the rows upon rows of dusty old books. It’s unclear who grabs who. But Dean and Seth are wrapped around each other, locking lips in pretty short order.

“OK,” Seth gasps after a minute. “Listen very closely. Because if you screw this up and we get caught, I’m probably grounded for life. But Hunter is on some sort of buisness trip, and he’ll be gone tonight. Stephanie goes to bed at nine o’clock. Roman sleeps like the dead. So at eleven p.m. exactly, you’re gonna climb up on the garage roof and into my window. Then we’re gonna fuck like rabbits.”

“Sir, yessir,” Dean grins. He goes back in for another kiss, but Seth dodges him.

“Wait—one more important detail—if the light is on, do not come in, it means Roman is still awake or somehow Hunter is back early. Understand?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Repeat back to me what I just said.”

“Come to your place at eleven, climb in the window. Except, if the light’s on, the party’s canceled.”

“Good boy.” Seth pats Dean on the cheek. 

He lets Dean drag him back into a kiss. They end up on the ground. Dean sitting with his back to the bookcase and Seth in his lap. 

They waste most of lunch pawing at each other. It’s unsatisfying. Dean’s so hard it hurts. But it seems Seth’s not quite bold enough to initiate sex while  _ at _ school, and that’s probably for the best. They manage to break apart when the bell rings. Barely.

So what if Dean spends the rest of the day driven to distraction and gets yelled at by several different teachers for not listening or being able to contribute to the class discussion. It’s not like he’s a model student anyway. It’s all business as usual apart from Seth’s self-satisfied smirk every time Dean fails to wrangle his mental faculties due to all his blood being in his dick.

 

***

 

It's been awhile since Dean was in the McMahon house. When he was a little kid, sometimes he'd come over and Stephanie would give him apple juice and pat him on the head. Maybe at a certain point he just stopped being cute. Swore too much. Got into trouble too often. He was probably blacklisted the first time Stephanie got a call from the elementary school principal about he and Roman playing with matches behind the gym. 

This is a whole different level. Climbing up the garage, in the middle of the night, for some quality sins of the flesh.

Dean had a hell of a time getting out here. He had to bribe Rudy with some whiskey for use of his bike. And even then it was at least a half an hour ride on dirt roads, with only a thin crescent moon, barely shining through the clouds. If Seth’s light had been on, Dean woulda had to wait around or just give up and head back home.

Thankfully, instead of that, he’s making his careful way across the top of the garage. He has both arms spread out like he’s a tightrope walker. He’s got decent balance, considering how much he drinks and how many times he’s been hit in the head. It ain’t a long way down to the ground from here, but he’d rather not fall. 

The garage is attached to the house. It’s still a little bit of a jump up onto the actual roof. Then he has to kinda crawl sideways across the shingles. There’s a pretty steep incline, but he’s gotten into Roman’s room like this before. Seth’s just happens to be in the opposite direction.

The window is already open. Dean tries for graceful, but he kinda just ends up stumbling inside. He’s a little distracted, because he can already hear Seth panting. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. 

Seth’s sprawled naked across the sheets with two fingers inside himself. He moans softly. 

Dean’s never undressed quicker. He almost rips his shirt pulling it off. He gets a little tangled up in his boots and jeans. But the important thing is he’s on the bed, and then on top of Seth, in about thirty seconds flat. 

It’s a haze of messy kisses and skin sliding together. Seth must have already had condoms out. Because it’s not long before he pushes Dean onto his back and rolls one onto him. Dean’s never been a fan of the feeling. Sticky latex clinging to the most sensitive skin on his body. Then Seth swings a leg over him, slicks him up with more lube and— _ fuck. _

Dean maybe digs his nails into Seth’s hips a little harder than he should. It’s the only way he can keep from groaning much too loudly. Because the tight, slippery heat of Seth’s body is too much to cope with. He sinks down onto Dean all in one go. Bottoms out. Stays still for a couple seconds. Then he starts to move. Rocking back on Dean’s dick, all slow and luxurious, and dirty at the same time. 

Most of the girls Dean’s hooked up with weren’t interested in goin’ past third base. He’s only fucked Paige. They were real drunk. She demanded that he do all the work, and then got upset when he finished before her. Of course, he ate her out after. But the whole thing left him tired and a little bit embarrassed.

This is not at all like that. Dean’s in control of absolutely nothing. He’s just holding on for the ride, so to speak. Seth keeps shifting around, still keeping a leisurely pace, trying slightly different angles. 

It’s obvious the moment he finds what he was looking for. His mouth falls open. He lets out this little whine. Things kick into high gear. He speeds up. Short, shallow thrusts. Bouncing on Dean’s cock. The mattress creaks. Dean can’t catch his breath. Seth feels so damn good. 

“Oh my God,” Seth mumbles. He’s got his hands on Dean’s chest for balance. His hair’s all messy, falling into his face. Dean reaches up and brushes some of it back, tucks it behind Seth’s ear.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s barely a whisper. Dean half didn’t mean to say it. Just one of those passing thoughts. More like an observation than anything.

Seth’s rhythm stutters. He grabs one of Dean’s hands and moves it down till it brushes against his cock. It's a clear message. Dean gets a loose grip and starts jerking him off. Seth is already leaking. 

“Fuck, baby. You get so wet for me.” Dean sounds about as wrecked as he feels. He probably shouldn't be talking. If they make too much noise, they're liable to wake somebody up. 

But the words make Seth shiver. Every breath comes out tinged with a choked-off whimper. Dean keeps it up. Touching Seth just enough to tease. To make him want.  _ Need. _ It’s not exactly control. Not when Dean’s on the edge himself. They’re both spiraling. 

“You close, sweetheart?” Dean runs his free hand up Seth’s fuzzy thigh. 

“Don’t—why—the  _ pet names,” _ Seth gasps.

“Roman says the same thing,” Dean can’t help it. He’s almost giggling.

“Dont. Talk about my cousin. Right now.”

“Sorry, baby.”

“I’m not…” Seth trails off.

“You don’t wanna be my baby?” Dean rubs his thumb right under the head of Seth’s dick. 

“I—ah—”

“You gotta speak up, darlin’.” 

_ “I do.” _ It’s so quiet. Just a little mouse squeak.

“What was that?”

Seth suddenly slumps forward, murmuring the words right against Dean’s neck.  _ Wanna be your baby. _

Dean wraps his arm around Seth’s waist. Starts to thrust up into him. He jerks Seth off quick and firm, praying to god he can just last another minute. He’s lost control of his mouth. He’s whispering all sorts of shit now. _You close? That’s it, you can do it baby. ‘S so good. Want you to come on my dick. Fuck._

Seth shudders. Squeezes down around Dean’s cock. His warm cum splatters across Dean’s stomach, and that’s it. He’s there too. Knocked flat by enough endorphins to send a speed freak for a loop.

It's quiet for a while. Seth doesn't really seem like he wants to move. In fact, he's very unhappy when Dean tries to get out from underneath him. He squirms and makes some utterly pitiful noises. 

“Shhh, ‘s OK I ain't goin’ far,” Dean soothes. 

Seth lets him up enough that Dean can at least get rid of the condom. But the second it’s gone, Seth’s curled up halfway on top of him again. Clinging to him. Dean chuckles and drapes his arms around Seth.

“Never woulda pegged you for a cuddle monster.”

Seth huffs, but doesn’t really respond. Dean’s not sure what time it is. He feels his eyes start to droop closed a couple of times, but manages to stay conscious. He knows he can’t sleep here. They’d be Doomed if Hunter found them.

But he can at least stay until Seth’s breathing slows. Until he goes limp, and even starts to snore a little bit. Then Dean gets up real careful. Maybe kisses Seth on the forehead before getting dressed and climbing out the window again. He’s not a sap. He’s just intensely susceptible to cuteness and Seth is very cute. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

He’s so fucked. He’s a goner. Well. At least he’s used to makin’ a fool of himself. 


	5. Death Came Swagger-Walkin' Out Of The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When is it not a good time to do drugs with Bray Wyatt?

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Not too late to wuss out, city boy.” Bryan spits some chew out the window. “I could always stop the truck and letcha' walk back to town. It’d only take you a couple hours.”

“Fuck that.” Seth wrinkles his nose.

Seth’s sandwiched between Dean and Bryan in the cramped front seat. He’s got one hand pressed against the ceiling to keep from hitting his head again. He didn’t follow Dean’s example right off and had to learn the hard way. Bryan’s the only one with a working seat belt. It’s a real bumpy road up into the hills.

The radio’s busted. So there's just an old  _ Operation Ivy _ CD playing on repeat.  _ Sound system gonna bring me back up, it’s one thing I can depend on.  _ It’s hot. Sweaty, all pressed together like this. Dean’s having a hard time keeping his mind out of the gutter. 

It was a spectacularly bad idea to let Seth come along on this drug-acquiring venture. Roman would have been against it, had he not been home sick today. What he don’t know now, he can’t complain about until later. And well, it’s a cultural experience, going to the Wyatt farm. The sort of thing most people go their whole lives without seeing. Whether that’s for the better or worse is sort of an individual judgment call.

They’re getting into the thick woods now. It's not the same sort of feeling as a wide open space. It can get almost claustrophobic. Dean’s always been wary of the hills. Part of it’s probably instinct, a mortal fear of the shadows and all the nasty things that can hide in them. Part of it’s stories. About the Wyatts. How they’re more than just the local drug supply with nutty ideas about an imminent apocalypse. Every so often, usually around Halloween, there’s whispers about satanism and human sacrifices that go on at the farm. It’s all bullshit, of course. Probably. The Wyatts aren’t exactly what you’d call polite company, but they just seem like they dip into their own stash a little too often and consequently got a few marbles missing. They’ve never made Dean feel unsafe. 

He hopes it stays that way.

Seth takes his hand off the roof for a minute to light up a cigarette. Which gives Dean an excuse to put an arm across Seth’s waist and grab the useless seat belt buckle to anchor himself. Just in time, too. They roll over a particularly large pothole seconds later, which would have jolted Seth something awful if Dean hadn't been holding him down. 

“And they say chivalry is dead.” Seth exhales a little puff of smoke and takes his sweet time bracing himself against the roof again. 

God, Dean wants to kiss him. He's not sure how Bryan would react to that. Probably he’d shout  _ gross  _ and try to avert his eyes. But it might not be so much that Seth’s a boy as it is that Bryan thinks it's gross to watch any sort of P.D.A. that Dean’s a part of. He was vocally upset the entire month that Dean and Nikki were dating, and all over each other at every possible moment. Coulda' probably been a beautiful trainwreck of a relationship if not for the whole public indecency arrest putting a damper on things. 

Dean lets go of the buckle and puts his hand on his own leg instead. Because, y’know, it's close quarters. Dean and Seth's legs are touching. He can discreetly brush his fingers against Seth’s thigh. Maybe later, if they're lucky, they can get some alone time. 

Bryan turns the music off as they approach the farm. Maybe to be polite. Maybe because it just feels wrong to have ska playing to this sort of scenery. It's sure a sight from far off. 

Dilapidated shacks scattered between the trees, with the occasional truck parked here or there. All the buildings have wooden walls, tin roofs, and doors barely clinging to their hinges. Peeling paint and ripped screens are more likely than anything that looks upkept. Most of the actual “crop” bits aren't in fields, but scattered in clumps all over the place. Pot plants probably taller than Dean is. The animals are ‘free range’ in that there's chickens, cows and pigs just wandering all over the place. And there, looming in the far background, is the large pole barn that houses the distillery. 

Bryan parks up near the barn and hops out of the truck. Both Seth and Dean have to exit via the door on the driver’s side, since the passenger door is rusted shut. Seth is wide-eyed, maybe even apprehensive as he takes in his surroundings. Dean don't blame him. If you had to paint a mental picture of dangerous back-country hillbillies, it’d probably look a lot like this.

It’s not a good idea to let Bryan get too much of a head start, though. Since their welcome might be kinda contingent on his presence. So Dean nudges Seth and starts walking. They make their way down a winding dirt path towards one of the closest, biggest houses, where the head honcho lives. Good old Bray. Weirdo extraordinaire. 

Bryan doesn’t bother to knock once they get up on the porch. He just tugs the door open, and heads on inside. Dean follows, with Seth not too far behind him, even though he’s still hanging back a little. 

It’s much darker inside the house. Dean’s eyes take a second to adjust. The living room is a lot like it was last time he came up here. Three dumpy couches arranged in a semi-circle, a ratty rug on the floor, Christmas lights zig-zagged across the ceiling. A holographic picture of the Virgin Mary on one wall, and a velvet painting of Elvis right across from it. There’s even a goddamned lava lamp sitting on the coffee table. All of it refuses to add up to any logical aesthetic. Perhaps that’s the charm.

Bray is sitting front and center, in all his glory. Bermuda shirt. Worn-out jeans. Long greasy hair. Topped with a straw trilby. He fits together about as well as the room does.

“Well hello, little brothers.” A sleepy smile crosses his face. “What a fine surprise. Come in. Have a seat. Tell me all about what ails you and we’ll see if I don't have a cure.”

Bryan plops down on the nearest couch. Dean takes the one on the opposite side of the room, so Seth can perch next to him.

“Now, this one I’ve met before.” Bray nods at Dean. Then he turns his attention to Seth. “But this one… I don't believe I’ve had the pleasure. My name is Bray Wyatt.”

“Seth Rollins.”

“This here’s a cousin a Roman’s. You remember Roman,” Bryan offers as he reaches for the pipe sitting on the edge of the table. He hits it without asking. 

_ “Oh.” _ Bray’s face lights up. “The McMahon’s Meat’s boy. Well, now. That is very interesting. It's always a treat to have royalty drop in and visit my humble abode.”

Seth is visibly uncomfortable. Bray’s still staring at him, pleased as punch. He seems to take a personal joy in corrupting the town’s youth, but he gets doubly excited when it's somebody important. 

“Please.” Bray gestures to the pipe that Bryan just set down. “Make yourself at home. What’s mine is yours. We’re all family here.”

Dean reaches for the pipe. If not just to break the tension. After all, when Bray offers something, you take it. He’s really not the type of man you wanna offend. 

It's real potent shit. Dean can tell the moment he sparks it up. Usually it takes more than a hit for him to feel the buzz. But even as he's passing the pipe to Seth, he’s already a couple steps removed from reality. 

“Now then.” Bray grins even wider. “What sorta medicine did you boys need?”

“We need some more of those dank buds while you got em,” Bryan drawls. 

“Of course.”

“Maybe like an ounce?”

“I’ve always admired your appetite.”

“Also probably a couple jars a' Shine and uh… are the mushies in season?”

Bray laughs at that. A lot. It's almost manic. Dean takes another hit to avoid the uneasiness swelling in his chest. May not be the best course of action, but it's the only one he’s got. 

“Oh, they’re in season,” Bray finally says. “Though, you know what I've told you about knocking on that abyssal door so close to Samhain. You never know what might be on the other side.”

“You do it.” Bryan shrugs. 

“Every night, I walk in the valley of the shadow as death himself. We sleep to practice for the imminent conclusion of our brief existence, as I wander the ethereal planes to seek the truth in a world of dissonant fiction… so I suppose you have a point. I shouldn't stand in the way of your search for meaning in the void. After all. What better time to meet the devil than the hallowed harvest?”

Dean is now properly freaked out. He knows it’s silly. That’s just the way Bray talks. All proverbs and metaphors.

Bray reaches for the empty pipe and packs it full again. He takes a big rip, before passing it to Bryan.

“I had a dream early this morning, about birds with wings the size of barn doors, feathers black as starless skies. They were circling in above us. Drawing ever closer. Buzzards, ready to pick a carcass clean. One of them caught fire, flying too close to the sun. Became a phoenix. Fell to the ground as ash, punished for its hubris. Reborn in penance and humility as a white dove… the buzzards attacked it. Plucked its feathers one by one. Left it naked and bleeding. You see, nature loathes purity as much as it loathes order. Chaos is the only way water will flow. The only way stars will die or give birth. The universe is a constant state of cataclysm. A cacophonous symphony. And in such a universe, a force of mischief is more a prophet than any man who tries to impose logic upon an illogical existence. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean blinks a few times. He’s too high for this. Bryan just laughs. Seth presses his leg against Dean’s. Hands folded in his lap. Tense as anything. 

“Demons are angels in a world where man is his own worst enemy,” Bray continues, settling back onto the couch. “God is every natural disaster that disrupts our neat little lives. Satan lives in pills and bottles, ready to dig out all the parts of us that clash and writhe, and refuse to fit into any palatable category. And that, dear brothers, is what you must remember when embarking upon your respective journeys through the murky waters of the mind.”

Bray makes direct eye contact with Dean. He holds it. Unblinking. There’s stories. 'Bout how you shouldn’t lock your gaze with a predator. Dean finally understands why.

“What do you believe in?” It’s barely a whisper. Somehow it’s more unsettling than if Bray were yelling.

“Um… I don’t rightly know,” Dean stutters.

“Well, at least you understand that much. I wonder if you won’t find your truth after another few puffs of that peace pipe.” 

It’s an obvious invitation. Dean takes another hit, even though his mouth is already dry, and his head feels like it’s full of cotton. 

“What about you, little prince?” Bray raises his eyebrows at Seth.

“I don’t believe in anything.”

Bray looks at him for a long time. Just drinking him in. Perhaps sizing him up. Dean almost wants to break the silence. He’s afraid of what might happen when he does. 

“You ever had your fortune read?” The mood shifts again. From somber to overly-animated. Bray moves towards the edge of his seat. “Let me see your palms.”

Seth offers his hands up, uncertain. Bray takes them in his. Cradling them gently. Seth’s fingers look so slender and delicate, juxtaposed against Bray’s meaty paws. It’s quiet again for a minute. Bray’s just studying the creases of skin, brow furrowed in concentration. Then he turns Seth’s hands over and grasps them in his.

“I’m so sorry.” Bray’s voice dips lower. It sounds like a sincere apology. Seth jumps a little bit. Dean can feel it.

“What?” Seth tugs away. Bray lets him go. 

“All those secrets twisting inside you. Coiled barbed wire, that constricts and punctures. It’s a whole lot of darkness for someone so small to carry around. You have my deepest sympathies.”

Seth’s gone pale. He doesn’t say anything. How could anyone be expected to respond to all of that?

“Calm it down, there,” Bryan says after a minute. “Yer scarin’ the city slicker.”

“On occasion, it’s a doctor’s job to deliver unpleasant news. However, I can certainly prescribe something for the pain.” Bray stands abruptly and exits the room. 

Bryan rolls his eyes as soon as he’s out of sight. “Probably shoulda warned you, he fancies himself a backwoods mystic of somethin’ along those lines. Don’t pay him any mind. He eats peyote buttons like candy and I don’t think he’s come down off his magical mystery tour in years.”

“He sure is… something.” Seth reaches for the pipe and takes a big hit. He exhales and cracks his neck. “That’s quality weed, though. Damn.”

“Best you can buy around these parts.”

They pass the pipe around until it’s cashed. Dean’s eyelids feel heavy. His whole body is heavy, in a pleasant way. It’s nice to be so close to Seth. Almost leaning on him. If Bryan’s noticed, he hasn’t said anything. Probably too fucked up to care. 

Bray returns, carrying jars of moonshine, a bag full of fresh, wet mushrooms, and a huge bag of weed. He sets all the goods out on the table and rejects the money when Bryan tries to pay him saying it’s a  _ special occasion. _

They smoke another couple bowls together. Bray waxes poetic on ravens, and the forest, and darkness and doom. Maybe it’s not quite as intense as he was being earlier. Maybe Dean’s brain can’t function fast enough to actually comprehend the meaning of all the cyclical sentences. The only thing he can focus on are the places his and Seth’s skin is touching.

 

***

 

Dean still feels all fuzzy, even by the time they get back to his house. Seth has been quiet, but for the most part he's smiling. Bryan just drops them off and heads on home, since his mama made dinner and food’s the only thing he ever cares about when he's stoned. 

“I should probably go,” Seth says, as he heads for Dean’s front door instead of Roman’s car. 

“Yeah. Probably.” Dean walks real close to Seth, almost pressed up against him. 

“Hunter is gonna start worrying soon.”

“It’d be downright irresponsible to let you stay and have sex with me.”

“Two upstanding young gentlemen such as ourselves shouldn't even contemplate something so reckless and uncouth.”

“Never in a million years.”

They’re on each other the second they get inside. They don't even make it to Dean’s bedroom. They barely make it to the couch. Dean winds up on his back, with Seth on top of him. Aimlessly grinding their cocks together through too many layers of fabric. It's still so good. Or maybe Dean’s just easy to please. Either way it's a whole-body experience. He’s buzzing with anticipation and carnal heat. 

Seth sits back enough to pull off his shirt. The second he does, Dean curls his hands around the sides of Seth’s ribcage. He drags his thumbs across Seth’s nipples and the soft, shocked sound is just fuel on the blazing bonfire. 

“Like that, baby?” Dean grins. “You’re sensitive all over, huh?”

“Shut up,” Seth groans. It's not very convincing. 

Dean keeps teasing. Making Seth’s nipples all puffy and pink. Making him gasp. Seth eventually tries to unzip his pants. But Dean gently knocks his hand away. 

“You need something?” He lets up, and traces his fingers down the sides of Seth’s torso. 

_ “Dean.”  _ Seth already sounds kind of broken. All floaty and desperate. It's intoxicating. 

“You need me? I’m right here, darlin’.”

“Touch me.” It's a little more demanding. If not still warbly. Dean never did know when to quit. 

“I’m touchin’ you right now, yer gonna have to be more specific.”

“Ugh… just…”

“What?”

“Go down on me.” It comes out all rushed. Jumbled. Seth’s cheeks are bright pink at this point, like he’s embarrassed. Which is ridiculous since he was talking about sucking Dean’s cock within like a couple hours of meeting him. 

But maybe it's different when Seth is asking for his own pleasure. After all, he didn't actually articulate it when they fucked. And gosh that's interesting. Needs further exploration. 

Dean sits up too. Pulls Seth into another messy kiss before he gets them rearranged. With Seth sprawled on the couch and Dean kneeling between his legs. Seth keeps chewing on his lip. Unsure what to do with his hands. So Dean grabs both of them and pins them to the arm of the couch. Seth gasps. Eyes wide. 

“Yeah?” Dean chuckles. 

_ “Yeah.” _

“Good. Keep those right there. Just let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

It's not the first time Dean’s gotten this sort of reaction when he was pushy. Nikki liked it a lot. Being man-handled. Pinned down. She even asked Dean to spank her. Got so wet she soaked through her panties. 

Dean still isn't super confident in his dick sucking skills. But Seth doesn't seem to have any complaints about them. Oral sex is kinda similar all around. Lots of licking. Keep your teeth out of the way. Keep a steady rhythm until the big finish. It helps that Seth’s on the smaller side. Dean can swallow most of his cock without choking. 

He takes his time unbuttoning Seth’s sinfully tight jeans. Peeling them off. Today it’s Superman boxer-briefs. Which is just adorable. Dean also takes those off painfully slow. Seth whimpers, but doesn't struggle or try to do anything to speed up the proceedings.

Well. Good boys deserve rewards, right?

Dean leans down and licks a stripe up Seth’s cock. Doesn’t take it into his mouth yet. Just gives it a few sloppy kisses. Seth whimpers. Squirms. Trying to get more stimulation. Dean grabs his hips and pins him to the couch. 

“I feel like maybe… you could have asked for this a little nicer. Why don’t you try again?” He looks up at Seth, maintains eye contact as he slowly drags his tongue over the leaking tip of his cock.

And fuck. Seth looks wrecked. He’s panting. Hair a mess. His eyes are even shiny, like he might burst into tears if he don’t get off soon. Why is that so hot? Shit.

“Dean—what—?”

“C’mon.” Dean kisses Seth’s fuzzy stomach. “I bet you can beg real pretty.”

The quiet holds. That’s all right. Dean can be patient for a good enough reason. He’s hard, and aching, and maybe not too far off from just humping the couch cushions. But he’s gonna wait. He wants to see where this goes.

_ “Please,” _ it just comes bursting out. Almost a sob. “Please, please, oh my god, just—”

Dean swallows Seth down without too much trouble. It ain’t all that coordinated. And it’s very far from dignified. Seth moans real loud anyway, all high pitched and breathy. It’s a real struggle for Dean not to just stick a hand down his own pants. He tries to just focus on what he’s doing. Letting Seth’s dick slide into his mouth over and over. 

Really, it’s not as unpleasant as Dean was lead to believe. Like, sure, this isn’t as fun as hitting a bong, but it ain’t bad. Don’t taste like much besides skin and sweat. It’s an odd feeling, having to open his jaw so wide. He’d probably get sore if it went on for too long. He’s not worried about that, though. Seth is already close to losing it, the way he’s carrying on.

The tip of Seth’s cock hits the back of Dean’s throat. He almost gags. Tries to focus on breathing through his nose. Relaxing. Seth has his hands over his face. Well, that won’t do. 

Dean pulls back. Ignores the whimper of frustration.

“Where are your hands s’posed to be?” He asks, calm as anything. 

Seth don’t answer right away. He has to take a few shaky breaths. Collect himself, before mumbling  _ ‘m sorry and  _ putting his hands back on the armrest of the couch. 

“Good boy.” 

Dean lets Seth’s cock slide back between his lips. Basks in the delicious, moans that get more frequent as Seth edges at an orgasm. It’s pretty easy to tell. His back arches. He stops breathing. Mouth falls open. His thighs are trembling.

All it takes is Dean trying to deepthroat him again, and Seth’s falling apart. His come is bitter. Gooey. But Dean swallows, because that’s the polite thing to do, and he’s not gonna spit on his mama’s rug. 

Seth is understandably spaced out. Just kinda lying there. Breathing heavy. Dean could jerk off, or rub up against Seth. But it seems a waste when there’s a pretty mouth right there. Already hanging open for him. 

He takes his cock out and gives it a few firm strokes. It’s a little awkward, repositioning himself so that he’s kneeling over Seth’s chest. But when he tangles his fingers in Seth’s hair, there’s an instant reaction. Seth comes back enough from wherever he was to realize there’s a dick in front of him. And the second he makes that connection, he starts trying to get his lips around it. Who is Dean to deny him?

Seth’s mouth is fucking amazing. Slick, warm, and so soft. Dean tries not to thrust at first, because it’s not polite. But pretty soon he can’t help himself. He’s fucking Seth’s throat, and nothing has ever felt better.

There’s already a swooping sensation at the pit of his stomach. Tingling pleasure, getting sharper. He’s not gonna last. He’s riled himself up as much as Seth. It’s easy to just let go. Be an animal for a minute. Chase down what he wants at a brutal pace. 

Then it’s the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. La petite mort. An orgasm like a head-on collision with a freight train. It leaves Dean boneless, dizzy, and floating up on cloud nine.

Seth tries to swallow, bless his heart, but there’s still some come dribbling out of his mouth when Dean flops on top of him and kisses him, lazy and uncoordinated. 

“You're amazing,” Dean murmurs. “Fuck, baby.”

Seth is never very talkative after the fact. He just holds onto Dean tight as he can. Part of Dean wants to ask.  _ What was Bray talking about earlier? Why did it freak you out? What does Roman mean when he says you’ve been through stuff? Are you OK? _ But that’d be intrusive. 

So instead they just hold each other as the sun sets outside the window. Dean would be happy to keep cuddling all night long, but he knows that’s not really possible when Seth was supposed to be home at least an hour ago. He’ll take what he can get.


	6. Three Inch Horses, Two-Faced Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of October, have some Halloween shenanigans.
> 
> *(TW: it's implied/referenced that Dean's dad committed suicide. Also, y'know, shroomy discussion of bleak existential dread.)

Dempster, as a whole, tends to go all-out for Halloween. There’s decorations in every store window. People do up their lawns with styrofoam grave stones and ghosts made of sheets. The school runs a free haunted house. The community center usually puts on a dance, with bobbing for apples, a costume contest, and a playlist that heavily features the Monster Mash. 

Dean hasn’t really participated in any of the wholesome holiday activities since he was in elementary school. His mama was always working. Stephanie took him trick or treating once or twice. But by the time he got to middle school, he’d already discovered the wonders of vandalism, cigarettes and cheap beer. So there didn’t seem to be a point in any adult-supervised activities.

He don’t ever waste money on a proper costume. He’s been a pirate. A movie extra. Waldo. Any random thing he can assemble from what’s already in his closet. This year he’s a greaser. Slicks his hair back, puts on a leather jacket and a white t-shirt. Presto. 

It’s been ages since Halloween fell on an actual weekend. It’s a Saturday, and Dean’s up before noon. Because he and Bryan wanna get in some quality shroom time, and mostly come down before they go to Paige's party tonight. It’s really not that fun to be all fucked up on psychedelics when everyone else is just drunk and rowdy. They learned that the hard way. So Dean’s already in his costume. Hydrated. Fed. He’s got a little bit of money in his pocket, because he knows he’s gonna want cigarettes and beer later. He’s as ready as he can be. 

His heart is still thudding a little too quick when he hears Bryan’s truck pull up. Maybe some of that weird shit that Bray was saying is lingering in his head. He’s never been scared of tripping before. But maybe he’s a little nervous this time. 

Of course, he ain’t gonna chicken out now. He struts outside and gets into Bryan’s truck. They drive back to Bryan’s house and go down in the basement to get the party started. 

They settle on opposite sides of the couch with the big old bag of mushrooms between them. The TV’s on low, playing some variety of Saturday morning cartoons. 

“I ain’t exactly sure on these measurements. But I figured we’d just split it in half?” Bryan shrugs.

“Sounds good to me.”

Bryan opens the bag first. Picks out a fat, slimy stem with his thumb and forefinger. He makes a face once he puts it in his mouth and starts chewing. Dean grabs a couple smaller caps and pops them down. They taste like old socks and mildew. Something musty, tangy, and generally unpleasant. You can’t really do much to them to improve the flavor unless you wanna go through the trouble of makin’ chocolates. Who’s got time for that?

He and Bryan go back and forth, picking their way through the bag until it’s empty. They chug a can of coke each to try to get rid of the taste, but of course it lingers. 

In some ways, the calm before the storm is the worst part. Just sitting around. Waiting for something to happen. Byan natters on about the party, and who’s gonna be there, and who he’s gonna fuck tonight. Dean half-listens, but for the most part just stares at the area half a foot above the television. 

“Weren’t the shrooms dry the last couple times we took ‘em?” He asks, after Bryan’s trailed off his monologuing.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think we’ve eaten wet mushrooms before. I wonder if it’s gonna be different.”

“Maybe. I mean… who knows? No two trips are alike.”

“You still wanna go to the graveyard?”

“It’s Halloween, ain’t it?”

“Yeah… I was just thinkin’... I dunno. After everything that happened last year, maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Well fancy that,” Bryan snorts. “Freaky Deano has lost his balls and grown a big, fat vagina.”

“Shut up,” Dean kicks Bryan half-heartedly. “I didn’t say I was  _ scared _ . It’s just, y’know, Paulie knows kids like to go to the graveyard on Halloween. That’s why we got caught. I don’t particularly wanna spend the night in jail again when I could be gettin’ my dick wet.”

“Like anyone at Paige’s is gonna want to touch yer crusty junk,” Bryan laughs.

Dean almost replies that he knows for a fact there will be somebody not only willing to touch it, but probably suck it, and maybe put it inside of them. But, he’s startin’ to feel a little funny. Queasy. He usually pukes when they take shrooms. It’s a fact of life at this point. He can always hope, but he knows realistically, he’s gonna be doubled over the toilet before too long.

“Doin’ alright there, buddy?” Bryan smiles. His face looks strange. Disproportionate. His pupils are huge.

“I dunno.” Dean runs his fingers through his hair. “Think I’m startin’ to feel it.”

“You gonna barf?”

“Ugh… probably.”

“If you make a mess on the carpet, you gotta clean it up.”

That’s enough to get Dean on his feet. He stumbles over to the bathroom and shuts the door. Next thing he knows, he’s kneeling on the floor, arms on the toilet seat, heaving and retching. It’s a strange sensation. Something trying to crawl up his throat. He’s real glad when it’s over. 

He gets up to splash water on his face and gets stuck staring at his own reflection. He just looks bizarre. Hair all wet and stringy. Eyes dilated beyond reason. He can almost see the atoms in every skin cell, buzzing and moving around. It look like he don’t fit himself. Like he’s wearin’ a mask. 

Somehow, he manages to pull himself away before he’s well and truly down the rabbit hole. But he still feels uneasy. He’s sweating. Has to take off the leather jacket and lie down on the floor. The water stains on the ceiling are swirling, and oozing, getting bigger and smaller and bigger again. 

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

“Yep,” Bryan replies from the couch. Dean had half forgotten Bryan was even there. 

“I don’t think I can move.”

“Then don’t.”

Dean’s sinking into the floor and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s just accepted it. The walls are breathing. Expanding and collapsing like giant lungs. The carpet is strange on his skin. He’s lying on tree tops in a sprawling forest. A sleeping giant.

“Are we dead?” Bryan’s voice sounds all syrupy.

“I dunno. Maybe?”

“Just… just think about it… how do I even know you’re real? Like… you can tell me yer real, but that could just be my own imagination talkin’ to me. And… and if ya are real, how do you know that I am? Could be the same thing. There’s… there’s just no tellin’ for sure.”

Dean twists that around in his brain for a while. It’s making him antsy. The water stains are getting bigger. Rumbling. Like something might break out of the ceiling at any minute and eat him.

“I think I’m either bein’ born or dying this very instant and I can’t tell which. Maybe that’s what dyin’ is. Bein’ born, and then ya forget so you can’t never tell anybody.”

The pulsing is getting stronger. Dean’s limbs are vibrating. He feels a little bit like he’s suffocating.

“We gotta go outside.”

Dean sits up. He’s a bit unsteady, but manages to get to his feet. He pulls Bryan off the couch. They both grab their sunglasses off the coffee table and head out into the world.

It’s a bright autumn day. Wind blowin’ through the grass. They’d probably be cold, but Dean feels fine. Much better than he did trapped in that box. They walk for a while in an aimless direction. Just winding down streets, and through fields. The sidewalk swirls in strange patterns. Everything is moving. Swaying. Alive.

He doesn’t even realize that they’ve walked towards the graveyard until he sees the tall wrought-iron fence. He can’t fight it now. Seems like it’s just destiny.

The gate’s open. Ain’t nobody around. It’s eerie quiet. Like even the wind’s stopped blowing.

Dean just stands in the middle of the dirt walkway. Gazing out at all the headstones. There’s a looming sense of  _ dread _ like he’s never experienced before. Maybe he’s gettin’ more acquainted with his own mortality. Maybe the mushrooms is stronger than usual. Maybe it’s just the memory of getting handcuffed and dragged off into a cruiser last year, after being caught spray-painting the side of a mausoleum with a flask of whiskey in his pocket.

“D’you think ghosts is real?” The words are out of his mouth before he can really think about them.

“Naw… I mean… I dunno. Probably not.”

Dean starts walking. Down the aisles upon aisles of graves. He hasn’t been to the cemetary for a proper reason since his uncle Otis died. They put him in the ground when Dean was about ten years old. He didn’t cry, but he felt empty for days. Months, even. 

Dean’s daddy got hit by a train two weeks before he was born. At least, that’s what his mama told him. One night, when his uncle Otis was real sloshed, he said Dean’s daddy jumped. Threw himself on the tracks because he didn’t wanna be alive no more. Dean never asked his mama about it, of course. So he’s not positive which story to believe. But y’know the saying. The only honest people in the world are children and drunks.

When he gets real far back in the cemetery, he spots it. The gravestone with a little statue of the archangel michael on it. He turns down the row, and ends up standing in front of it. The letters look like they’re melting. Jumping around. It’s difficult to read them. 

_ Here Lies Otis Ambrose. Beloved brother. Prize fighter. May he rest in peace.  _

Dean sits down and just looks up at the statue. It almost seems like the wings are moving. Just like every blade of grass is wiggling back and forth underneath him. 

“Deano,” Bryan’s voice is real soft. “I dunno if… that’s a good idea…”

“‘S OK.” Dean pats the ground beside him. “Uncle Otis liked drugs.”

He feels Bryan settle down next to him. They sit quietly. Just drinking in the strange surroundings. It feels like they’re on another planet. Nothing but silence and stone on the surface, with hints of life where you wouldn’t expect them. Grass, flowers, trees, all soaking up the town’s remains through their roots. 

“I think we’re getting older, Bryan.”

“Well, yeah. We are.”

“I mean like… do you ever just feel… cold on the inside? Like yer wakin’ up, and goin’ to school, and none of it matters. You just keep doin’ it because there ain’t nothin’ else to do, but sometimes you think you might rather it just be over.”

“Um… no? … Are you OK?”

“Maybe?” Dean brushes his fingers over the grass, zeroing in on the feeling of each tiny blade crossing his skin. “What’s it really mean to be OK? I’m just… y’know. Goin’ along for the ride.”

“Ya sure settin’ here ain’t makin’ you sad?”

“No. I ain’t sure about much of anything. D’you still feel like yer dyin’?”

“Kind of.”

“I think that’s how I feel mosta the time. Like I’m dyin’. Real slow. And there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.”

“That’s pretty heavy.”

“Yeah… sometimes it’s fine though. I mean, sometimes I’m happy. It’s mostly just when I’m alone that I get all…” Dean waves his hand, stares at the trails his fingers make through the air.

“Well, y’know you can come over if you need to. Anytime, buddy. Any time at all.”

“Thanks… I mean, lately things have been good. Like,  _ really _ good.”

“Yeah?”

“Consequence of gettin’ laid on the regular, I ‘spose,” Dean says without thinking.

It takes a minute for him to realize that Bryan’s staring at him, all incredulous. Well. What does anything matter in the grand scheme of things? Dean could just expire this very instant and it wouldn’t matter. People finding out he’s into sucking dicks is irrelevant.

“That’s the second thing you’ve said today that makes it seem like yer fucking somebody specific,” Bryan nudges him in the ribs. “Who?”

“Oh, y’know,” Dean shrugs.

“I don’t. Is it embarrassing or somethin’? You been sneaking’ off into the woods to get it in with one of the Wyatt girls?”

“Hell no. That’s gross.”

“Please tell me you ain’t with Paige again, I don’t wanna deal with that hot mess tonight. In fact, if that’s what’s goin’ on, I’m ain’t gonna show at that party. Because yer gonna be all fucked up, and she’s gonna be drunk, and that means you’ll say some dumb shit and she’s gonna yell at you for being a screwup, burnout. Then you two will end up having loud sex in the front yard or somethin’ before anybody else has even passed out and I don’t wanna be around for that.”

Dean blinks a few times. “That was a real colorful picture, d’you think about me fucking Paige a lot?”

“No. I just seen that exact thing happen.”

“‘S OK to admit you got off on it. No judgment. In fact, I’m flattered.”

“I absolutely did not. I don’t like seeing you naked Deano. Ever. It’s happened too many times in my young life. It’s scarred me.”

“Drama queen,” Dean snorts. 

Dean feels all drippy. He sprawls across the ground, looking up at the clear blue sky. It looks like layers and layers of mirrors. All warped and swirling, with the occasional blotchy cloud. 

“You still didn’t answer my question.” Bryan says after long enough that Dean had almost forgotten their conversation.

“Oh… right… you gonna remember this?”

“I dunno. Am I gonna regret asking if I do?”

Dean lets out a long breath. His lungs feel tight. He’s not sure if just admitting it is gonna make him feel better or worse. He’s been dying to talk to  _ somebody _ about it. Every single day. He’s an over-full balloon. Giddy, and confused, and reeling. 

Of the available options, Bryan isn’t the worst. He’ll die before he tells Roman. Not that Roman wouldn’t be more receptive to the general queer thing, but it’s his cousin. Which makes shit real complicated. Dean don’t really have other close friends. He’s on decent terms with lots of folks, but he don’t trust ‘em farther than he can throw ‘em.

“I been fucking Seth,” he just blurts it out. Braces for impact. 

“I  _ knew it,” _ Bryan punches him in the thigh. That… was not what Dean expected to hear.

“You—you did?” Dean props himself up on his elbows so he can look Bryan in the eye. 

“You been attached at the hip ever since he got into town. And well, you did spend an awful lot of time up on the roof together that first night. Came back in lookin’ all flushed. And when I dropped you off the other day—it was real fuckin’ obvious you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

“Oh.” Dean don’t really know what else to say.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna ask about it. Since it ain’t my business. But it’s also not like anybody’s gonna be surprised. Yer pretty damn gay. Loudly. And always. If you weren’t so greasy and eager for a fight, you’d be gettin’ called a faggot on the regular.”

In a way, that’s an oddly comforting thing to hear. Dean likes to tell himself he don’t care a whole lot what other people think. It’s not strictly true. It’s nice to think that he might not be ostracized if it gets out that he’s a big old queer. 

“Shit,” Dean sighs and slumps back onto the grass, grinning. 

“Yer gonna be insufferable now that you’ve officially told me about this, huh?”

“Seth is really pretty, and perfect, and he’s amazing at blowjobs? I’m gonna marry him.”

“Oh my god,” Bryan laughs. 

 

***

 

By the time Roman calls, it’s dark outside. Dean and Bryan have made it back to the basement. Dean’s still pretty much faced, seein’ bright, moving colors, and his whole body is pulsing. Bryan seems to be in a similar condition. He’s in no state to drive. So it’s decided that Roman will come pick them up.

The passage of time is a strange thing to keep track of. It seems like just a few minutes before Bryan’s nudging Dean with his toe and telling him to get up off the floor. 

Dean goes, of course. Puts on his leather jacket and makes his way out into the night. Bryan gets in the front passenger’s seat of Roman’s black SUV. Dean climbs into the backseat, and is just pleased as punch to find Seth there waiting for him. 

He’s departed from his usual all-black outfit, and opted for purple skinny-jeans and a tuxedo t-shirt instead. He’s got his face all painted up like the joker. It looks a little odd, in Dean’s current state. 

“Hey,” Dean smiles anyway as he shuts the door.

“How was your trip?”

“Still going…”

“Well. You're in for quite the night, huh?”

The car starts moving. It’s a very strange sensation. Dean snakes his hand across the seat and intertwines his fingers with Seth’s. It’s dark. Roman’s looking at the road, and talking to Bryan. It’s not like he’s gonna notice. Seth is still stiff for a moment before he squeezes Dean’s hand. 

They’re quiet during the ride. Dean’s sad he has to let go of Seth once the car stops. But then there are a lot of other sights and sounds to take in.

Paige has a big house, out past the mines, into the long stretch of nowhere. It's surrounded by empty fields of grass and trees, an ideal place to get rowdy without anyone noticing. 

The lights are on in all the downstairs windows. Loud music pulses, even as they approach. It's some shitty pop country. The kinda stuff that gets played at any party, because everyone knows the words. There's a cluster of people sitting on the porch, puffing away on cigarettes, holding red plastic solo cups. Dean feels like he's in a movie.  _ The All American High School Cliche _ . 

Bryan stays outside, to join a circle of people smoking weed. Dean follows Seth and Roman into the kitchen. There's a lot of people clustered around the marble island in the middle of the room. Drink-mixing central. Roman squeezes in beside Rudy. Seth hangs back with Dean.

He pulls out a flask and downs a few big gulps. Dean’s staring at the way Seth’s Adam's Apple bobs. At how soft and vibrant his skin looks. Almost glowing. Dean wants to touch it.

“You OK in here?” Seth raises his eyebrows when he pauses in the chugging.

“Sure,” Dean moves in a little closer.

Seth quirks a smile and keeps drinking. If Roman were watching, he’d probably say to slow down. But it’s not Dean’s job to tell anybody else to be less fucked up when his bones are vibrating in time with the music and the walls won’t stay still.

“Deaaanoooo,” A very familiar voice slots into focus. 

Dean turns around. Paige is standing there, with a drink in her hand, inky makeup caked around her eyes for that sharp contrast with her ghostly skin. She's got on a very low-cut dress to go with her playboy bunny ears. It's damn hard not to stare. 

“Um… hey?” Dean offers. 

“Oh my god, are you on drugs?” Paige cups his chin to look into his eyes a little better. Dean kinda wants to swat her hand away. But also he don't need to upset her. In her own house and all. 

“Yes,” he affirms. Because it's obvious. Why lie?

“Oh my god.” She lets her hand drop. “Ever the mess of flaming garbage. Why am I even surprised? Anyway. Do you have a cig? I’m desperate for a drag.”

Dean’s in process of checking his pockets when Seth pulls out his pack and offers it up. Paige takes one. It's impossible not to notice the way her gaze lingers on Seth. She smiles wide. “Sorry, don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Seth,” he nods. 

“Paige. It's a pleasure.” She bites her lip a little, holding the cigarette between her fingers. “D’you want to come have one with me?”

“Sure.”

Dean probably was not invited, but he tags along anyway. Seth gives him a cig too once they're outside. Dean’s mesmerized by the way the tobacco crackles and the smoke spirals up into the air. He hears Seth and Paige talking, but doesn't pay a whole lot of attention. He’s sunk into his own little world. 

His hands always look so strange when he’s tripping. Like his thumbs are mismatched, too big and stubby for the rest of his fingers. If he stares long enough, he can see the veins in his wrist pulsing and twitching. 

Charlotte is standing right in front of him. In a french maid costume. When did she get here? 

“Wanna go upstairs?” She reeks of beer. Already wobbly. She’s leans into Dean for support. Pressing her tits against his chest. Their mouths are almost touching.

“I’m gonna be honest, Char. I ate half a bag of mushrooms and I’m like… on a whole different level right now.”

“So? Think you couldn't get it up or something?”

_ I've never fucked while tripping and I don't want to start with you _ , isn't a nice thing to say. So Dean just shrugs. Resists when Char tries to drag him inside anyway. She gets huffy. But distracted soon enough when Rudy walks by. She just latches onto him instead. 

“God she’s pathetic.” Now Paige is the one getting all close and personal. “She’ll sleep with anybody.”

“You won't?” 

Dean don't even mean it that way but Paige shoves him. She's still smiling. Her dress has a zipper on the front and it keeps going lower. The black lace of her bra is barely covering her nipples. Wait.

The porch is emptying out. It's just Russ and Lana leaned up against the house, sucking face, Xavier and Bayley sharing a joint, and Dean and Paige. 

“Where’d Seth go?” It's not subtle. Dean don't particularly care. 

“Um… I dunno. He got a phone call and walked down the driveway to take it.”

Dean’s walking before he can think about it. He hears Paige calling after him. The lights from the house only extend so far, but the moon is almost full. Dean can still see fine once he gets used to it. 

He follows the gravel driveway down a ways, keeping a lookout on either side of him. He passes Roman’s car and starts to get concerned. But then he sees the glowing ember of a lit cigarette. Walks a little faster to reach it. 

Seth’s sitting on a stump beside the road, arms crossed, resting on his knees, head hanging down, cigarette limp between his fingers. As Dean gets closer, he hears the labored breathing. Choked off sobs. It sends a chill through him, an intense wave of Bad Vibes. Seth’s crying. That’s the opposite of a good thing.

“Hey…?” He tries to keep his voice soft, but Seth still jumps. His makeup is all streaked from the tears. He tries to wipe his eyes and ends up just smearing the black and white and red into a mess. It almost looks like his face is peeling off, but Dean tries to ignore that part.

“How long have you been standing there?” Seth snaps. He sounds angry, even if he’s still crying a little.

“Just walked up.”

Seth smears his makeup even more. His hands are shaking. He pulls out his flask, and presumably downs the rest of it. Dean inches closer. 

“You weren’t… you weren’t listening…?” Seth hiccups.

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

Dean settles down on the ground right by the stump. Shoulder just barely brushing against Seth’s leg. It’s quiet for a bit, apart from the sound of Seth trying not to cry and failing. Dean doesn’t know what to do. If he should go. He’s seriously thinking about getting up and leaving when Seth slides off the stump and down into his lap. He clings to Dean’s shoulders. Body still shaking. Soon Dean’s shirt is wet. But that’s OK. He just holds onto Seth as best he can. Rubbing circles across his back. Getting lost in his body heat. How good he smells. He’s never met anyone that had such an attractive natural scent. He just wants to bury his face in the side of Seth’s neck and live there. 

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Dean asks, when the crying starts to taper off.

“No.”

“OK.” Dean hugs Seth a little tighter. There’s another spell of silence. Dean looks up at the stars. There’s almost rainbows between them. Or maybe… faces? Vague shapes in the void between pinpricks of light.

“You’re missing the party.” Seth pulls back. His face is such a mess. Dean wants to lick it clean, even if that would taste awful.

“I’d rather be with you.”

“I’m currently a trainwreck. This can’t be fun.”

“It don’t matter.”

“I’m not… I can’t fuck you tonight, OK? I just can’t. So if that’s what you’re waiting for, I’m sorry. It’s not happening.” Seth almost sounds like he’s gonna start with the waterworks again. Dean wants to kiss him. That might send the wrong message right about now.

“‘S OK. That ain’t nothin’ to apologize over.”

Seth blinks a few times. Unsure how to cope? Dean pulls him back in. Maybe rocks him back and forth a little like you would a baby. Seth relaxes slowly. His breathing starts to get back to normal. 

Seth’s skin is cold. Dean takes off his jacket and drapes it over him. He’s starting to feel the chill in the air too, but that’s not important. 

By the time they’re both ready to get up and make their way back to the house, the crowd’s thinned out. Music is still playing, but quieter. People have clustered in the kitchen, or living room, or off to their respective dark corners. Seth ducks into the bathroom to wash his face off. Dean gets them both some water. He don’t see Roman or Bryan anywhere. So once Seth’s cleaned up, they head back out to Roman’s car. 

It’s actually not too bad of a spot to sleep. The back seat folds down. Roman always keeps some blankets in there. Dean makes them up as nice of a bed as he can. Seth doesn’t seem to have any objections to curling up with him for the night.

The quiet is pleasant. Dean’s starting to come down. The full-body weariness has set in. He’s half asleep when Seth rolls over, puts a hand on his chest. 

“It was my ex.”

“Hmm?” Dean tries to drag himself back to consciousness.

“On the phone. My ex called. I don’t know how he got my new number. It freaked me out.”

“Need me to fight him?” Dean mumbles.

“That’d be nice.”

“Can do… I’ll punch him out…” Dean’s eyes are drifting closed in spite of his best efforts. 

Seth gives him a soft, light kiss and cuddles closer. Dean passes out feeling all warm fuzzy. He wouldn’t terribly mind falling asleep next to Seth every single night.


	7. Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is late and short, but I swear to god I re-wrote it four times just. Take it. End my suffering.
> 
> (FYI: past child abuse, and Hi FriENDS THE DADDY KINK IS HERE.)

Dean’s head is pounding. When he cracks his eyes open, it’s barely light out. It takes a minute for him to remember where he is. Seth is still asleep next to him. It’d be a crime to wake him. He’s so pretty like this. Face completely relaxed. All soft and dreamy. 

But Dean’s gotta piss. Real bad. So he opens the door as quiet as he can. He’d just whip it out and go right next to the car, but he’s also got cotton-mouth like a motherfucker. So he makes his way inside to get some water and whatnot.

It’s quiet in the house. There’s people passed out on various pieces of furniture. Bryan’s on the couch, curled up with Brie, Nikki’s twin sister. Well. That’s an interesting development. Good for him.

There’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that Roman’s somewhere upstairs with Becky. Whether or not they’ve done the no-pants dance is anybody’s guess. They might never get around to it. But Roman’s happy, that’s what matters.

Dean takes care of business. Chugs some water. Even washes his face off. Psychedelics always leave him with a grimy feeling. Like he really needs to shower. He doesn’t figure he’s been gone long when he climbs back into the car. 

Seth is awake now, though. 

Just barely. He squirms closer when Dean lies down again. Dean drapes an arm around him. He’d be fine with goin’ back to sleep for a bit. Usually on Sundays Roman would be taking off early so he could still go to church and avoid the Wrath of Hunter. Dean’s gonna bet on that not happening this morning, considering what a drunk, rowdy night it was. 

But then Seth rolls on top of him. Kisses his neck. Seth shifts his weight so he can unbutton Dean’s pants. It don’t take much to get Dean hard. A minute of Seth playing with his cock, and Dean’s ready to go. 

_ “Shit,” _ Seth mumbles. “Want you in me so bad.”

“Fuck, baby.” Dean grabs Seth’s ass. Squeezes. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“We probably shouldn’t. The car’s gonna smell like sex.”

“Yeah… it’d be a real bad idea.”

“Fuck it.”

Seth rolls off of Dean and wiggles out of his pants. Then he’s reaching in the back of the  seat pocket on the driver’s side, and he pulls out some condoms. And lube. He flops down next to Dean, slicks up his fingers, and slips one inside himself. Dean might groan just a little bit. Because he’s never seen anything sexier in his damn life. 

He can’t help himself. He’s gotta squeeze the base of his cock. Give it a few strokes. Just staring at Seth. 

“Yer so fuckin’ hot.” He kisses Seth on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to feel you, baby.”

Seth moans. His little dick is already shiny at the tip. Dean stops touching himself in favor of touching Seth. Not even really jacking him off, just palming his cock, feeling it twitch. 

“The things I wanna do to you.” Dean’s just letting his mouth run at this point. “Bet we could get you to come just from bein’ fucked. You’re so sensitive.”

Seth slips another finger in. He’s whimpering. Already flushed. Dean stops playing with Seth’s cock. Cups his chin instead and pulls him into an actual kiss. He don’t really care about the morning breath. Not when Seth’s lips are so soft. Not when he makes such pretty noises. 

He just gets louder when Dean pushes his shirt up and starts teasing his nipples. Pinching them. Rubbing them. Getting them stiff and swollen. He kind of wants to help with the whole fingering thing, but Seth probably knows what he needs better than Dean does. There’s always time to learn later.

Seth starts pawing at Dean’s jeans, trying to get them off. Dean takes the hint, strips out of them. Seth practically throws a condom at him. 

“You sure you’re ready for me, darlin’? I don’t wanna hurt ya.” Dean tears the foil and tries not to make a face as he rolls the latex down over his cock.

_ “Yes,” _ Seth breathes, legs spread like a truck-stop whore. 

Dean supports himself on one arm and positions his cock with the other. Seth’s so tight. It don’t seem like he’s actually gonna fit. But then the head of his dick pops inside the slick heat of Seth’s body and he’s already seeing stars. 

Seth fists his hands in the blanket. Mouth half-open. Eyes closed. Dean almost wishes he had a camera, just so he could capture this exact moment and keep it forever. Seth’s the sort of pretty people write poems about. You could compare him to a perfect sunset, or fresh blooming lilies, or some other romantic metaphoric bullshit like that.

Dean pushes forward slowly. They both need the time to adjust. Even after he bottoms out, he don’t see any reason to hurry. He just starts with lazy thrusts, grinding into Seth dirty and deep. Seth is gasping. Mouthing things that might be words, or might just be nonsense. 

“So good, baby,” Dean whispers. “You feel fuckin’ amazing.”

Seth’s dick is rubbing against Dean’s stomach. It’s so sticky. The sensation tugs at something hot and primal at Dean’s core. It makes him wanna cover Seth in bite-marks and scratches like a wild beast claiming his territory. At the same time, he also wants to cradle Seth real close like he’s made of porcelain, and never let anything or anyone make him sad ever again.

He’s not sure which train of thought’s more dangerous.

The windows are starting to fog up. Dean snaps his hips a little harder. Chasing that sweet drag of friction that’s lighting fires under his skin. The car rocks on its wheels. Seth shifts around a bit, and then suddenly he’s moaning real loud. Wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist. Arching his back.

They must have found the right spot. So Dean just tries to keep it there at that same angle and pace. He can feel Seth trembling underneath him. Seth lets go of the blanket, and tries to slip his hand between them, but Dean grabs both of Seth’s wrists and pins them down. 

“Now hold on a second.” Dean stops moving. “I thought we’d been over this.”

_ “Please, please, please.” _ Seth is already way past desperate.  It’s so satisfying. That Dean barely has to nudge to get him begging.

“Please, what?”

“Please let me come—I’m so close—”

“I thought we were gonna try to see if you could finish like this.” Dean grins. He rocks into Seth, real slow again. Still holding his wrists down. 

Seth whines. His whole body is tense. Almost seems like he’s gonna hyperventilate or somethin’. Dean picks up a little speed. Gets Seth whining and trying to buck back against his thrusts. Seth’s poor dick is leaking. It wouldn’t take much, that’s for sure. But Dean can hold off for a while longer. So, why not push the limit?

“C’mon, darlin’. You can do it. Just let it happen.”

_ “Daddy.” _ Seth sounds so distressed. Out of it. The word’s a little slurred like he’s still drunk.

And that knocks Dean for a loop. He just honestly has no idea what to do with it. He doesn’t stop. It feels way too good to stop. Hell. Why not just go with it?

“Yeah, baby?” Dean’s voice might crack a little. 

“Please,” Seth squeaks. There’s no other word for it. It looks like he’s gonna cry. Fuck. Dean can’t take it. 

He caves, lets go of Seth’s wrists and jerks him off. It’s sloppy. But gets the job done. Seth comes about five seconds later. Muscles fluttering and clenching around Dean. His jizz puddles on his stomach then starts to drip down his sides. The blanket is ruined. 

Dean’s over the edge before much longer. He collapses on top of Seth, still shuddering with the aftershocks. 

After a couple minutes, Dean pulls out. Gets rid of the condom. Leaves a window cracked so the car can air out. He flops on his back. Seth presses up against him. Clingy as usual after an orgasm. 

Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Does he ask about it? Is it better not to draw any attention to it? He doesn’t really  _ mind _ if that’s what Seth wants to call him when they fuck. But… he would’ve appreciated a little warning?

He ain’t great at talkin’ about things, though. Why do today what can be put off till tomorrow? Or, y’know. Never. 

 

***

 

Uncle Otis used to say it's not who you’re fighting, it’s  _ what.  _ Everybody’s got something, deep down at their core, that's dark and aching, constantly trying to claw its way to freedom. The best fighters know how to surrender and just let it out. Unleash it all on some other poor bastard. 

He never did say what he was fighting when he went out in the ring. But you could tell, when it just up and consumed him. His eyes would go a little glassy and he’d stop trying to defend himself. He’d lay into whoever happened to be in front of him with such viciousness, it’d usually end in a clean knockout. 

There was a period, maybe a year before he died, when Uncle Otis was living on their couch. Well. Part time on the couch. Part time in the same room as Dean’s mama, but he tries not to think too hard about that. 

They fought a lot, Mama and Uncle Otis. Not physically. They’d just have spectacular shouting matches while Dean sat at the kitchen table pushing food around his plate and pretending to eat dinner. Plates’d get broken. The neighbor’s dog would start howlin’. Sometimes old Paulie would show up in his cruiser to see what the fuss was all about. Dean was too small to really do much about it. Uncle Otis was at least twice his size. The couple times Dean tried to get between the two of them, he got a black eye and a bloody nose respectively. Course, that resulted in his uncle getting kicked out on the street for a few days. But then he’d come back with flowers, and candy, and apologies, and he’d wind up on the couch again. 

It was a strange little cycle. 

Dean sometimes wonders how much of that runs in the family. If it's genetics that make him feel like a spring coiled too tight when he goes more than a few weeks without inflicting or suffering some sorta physical violence. 

Today, he picked a fight with AJ. Kevin has been avoiding him since Dean near knocked his teeth out in the locker room, and AJ is the next easiest person to rile up. All you gotta do is tell him that his chin-length fluffy brown hair makes him look like a dyke and his mama gives bad head. 

In retrospect, Dean maybe shoulda waited until after school. But it's not the first time he's had his face slammed into the asphalt of the outdoor basketball court. It won't be the last. 

“Take it back, you little shit.” AJ pushes Dean’s face to the ground again. He’s got a hold of Dean’s hair. His bony knees are digging into Dean’s back. 

“What?” Dean mumbles. “I used a condom.”

“My sister is a goddamned virgin, take it back.”

Dean’s cheek is scraped up pretty bad at this point. His ribs ache from AJ kicking him. He’s giddy with it. He feels alive for the first time in days.

Part of him feels bad for dragging Alexa’s name through the mud just to get at AJ. She’s cute, even if she might be even more of a psycho than Char. But people know not to take him seriously. It's not like the small crowd that's gathered around them is listening to what he's saying anyway. 

“S’pose that's still true if we ain't counting anal. Y’shoulda heard her beg for it.”

And his head gets knocked again the court again. And again. And again. His ears are ringing. His vision’s gone all blotchy. He might pass out. 

Next thing he knows the weight is off him and AJ is hollerin’ something to the effect of  _ put me down you asshole.  _

“Run along now.” Roman’s voice is deeper than usual. That's how he gets when he wants to sound threatening. 

And AJ must fuck off, since next thing Dean knows he’s being hauled into a sitting position. Roman’s kneeling in front of him cupping his chin. 

“Your face is a mess,” Roman huffs after a minute. “What the hell, Dean?”

What's there to say? Dean just shrugs. Laughs even though he sounds hoarse. Crazy. That’s his thing ain’t it?

The crowd has dispersed. Huh. Dean might have actually gone under a minute. He can still feel the sting of raw, torn flesh. Warm blood dripping down his face. 

“C’mon.” Roman lets out a weary sigh. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

He manages to prop Dean on his feet and puts an arm around him. Dean can stagger, but it's a long, shaky road to the bathroom. 

He sits on the edge of a sink as Roman dabs at his face with a wet paper towel, trying to wash some of the carnage away. He's silent and scowling. It's only a matter of time before the lecture starts. 

“Why’d you do that?” Roman demands once Dean isn't oozing quite so much red all over the place. 

“AJ’s a douchebag. I wanted to punch him.”

“Looks like you mostly laid down and just let him wail on you. There was barely a scratch on him.”

“S’what if I did?” Dean knows he's slurring his words. He's still disoriented. All floaty and calm the way he only gets after breaking himself against someone else’s fists. 

“I don’t like watching you self destruct. Even if it’s your favorite pastime.”

“I know, babycakes.” Dean winks. It twinges. Any facial movement is probably gonna sting for a bit. “But you like the excitement. Gotta keep you guessing and all.”

“Dean, I’m serious. What do you even think shit like this accomplishes?”

“I gotta maintain the scrappy trailer rat rep, don’t I?”

“No. You really don’t.”

Dean looks down at his ripped up shoes. They’re covered in rusty red stains. Like his jeans, and his shirt. He should feel guilty. He doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything besides the body-wide throbbing. 

Seth hasn’t really talked to him in about a week. He’s been outright avoidant. Dean hasn’t felt like cornering him or nothin’. Things are just. Tense.  He don’t know what to do besides leave it well enough alone. 

He’s always been better at getting punched than having any sort of difficult conversation. Both things relieve the stress. Make him stop clenching his jaw until his teeth feel like they’re gonna shatter and he’s got a massive tension headache. Some sorts of pain are easier to deal with than others. It’s just a fact. 

Dean claps a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “I’m fine, buddy. No sense gettin’ all worked up.”

“If you say so.” Roman lets out a heavy sigh.

“Whadaya say we ditch the rest of the day and go get drunk in a parking lot?”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“I’m not hearing a  _ no.” _

“Is it gonna stop you from finding AJ after school and picking another fight?”

“It most certainly would.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the [tumbles](http://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Thank you [Kat](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com/) for the editing chapters 1-4. Now introducing [Safty](http://safty.tumblr.com/) and [praetorian-guard.](http://praetorian-guard.tumblr.com/) Steppin' up for the rest of the fic. Tru MVP's.
> 
> This has broken 20k. What am I doing with my life?


End file.
